


This Mess We've Made Is Ours

by SecondFromTheRight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy's POV, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-29 09:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: He takes a breath. “Please come back with me.” He tries to keep his voice steady but he can hear himself practically pleading.“Bellamy.” She sighs.“Clarke,” he exhales, trying to control how much he wants to lash out at her. “You can’t just…” he cuts himself off. Can’t what? Can’t just turn up and leave again? Can’t just sleep with him with barely a word? Can’t just walk away with his come still on her? What the fuck is he going to say? You can’t just take my heart away with you again?The weeks Clarke is gone between Seasons 2 and 3 go a little differently.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s partly luck that he sees her. Luck and the fact that he misses her enough to seek her out even when she isn't there anymore.

He goes past her room most days at least once since she left two weeks ago, convincing himself he needs to take the long way to get somewhere, or go somewhere he really doesn’t need to be, not admitting to himself that he just misses her. But sometimes he does accept that, it pushes through so much that he can’t ignore it and sometimes in those rare occasions, he goes inside. But half the time it depresses him even more because there’s nothing to her room. He isn’t even sure she ever slept a full night here. He usually stands there in the middle of it and gets angry. Sometimes at her, for leaving them all, but mostly at himself for not being able to make her stay. For not being able to get through to her like she had for him. For not being enough to make the difference.

He’s both grateful and frustrated that Abby refuses to let the room go to anyone else. Even if it’s pretty much just an empty room he has no memories of her being in, it’s still Clarke’s room. It’s still proof that other people are waiting for her to come home, proof that it is her home.

Tonight is one of those times he goes inside. And it isn’t empty. It has more life than he’s ever seen in it. Clarke is there, going through the few belongings left in the wardrobe.

He stares silently at first, wondering if maybe his mind couldn’t take this room without her and he’s imagining her.

She crouches down as she continues to look through her stuff, obviously looking for something in particular. Bellamy hasn’t seen her face yet, only her profile and he stands and waits for her to turn around, to notice he’s behind her, in case somehow it’s not really her. Someone else with that blonde, wavy hair that looks straighter than usual. Someone else with the same jaw as her. Someone else he’s printing her onto because he’s so desperate for it to be Clarke. He’s not used to her in furs.

She doesn’t turn around, letting out a huffed “Damnit, where are you?” as she looks around the mess she’s making.

Bellamy knows that voice though. It’s Clarke. It’s enough to bring back his own voice, enough to let himself be a part of it.

“Clarke.”

She whirls around to face him, staying in her crouch. She looks more defensive, more ready than he remembers, immediately eyeing him like he’s a danger she’s about to take on. But it soon melts away.

“Bellamy.” She mouths back in a whisper before her eyes track to the open door he’s left behind him and the defensiveness comes back some. He sees her tense up right there.

He quickly turns and closes the door, leaving just the two of them again. He stands and stares at the door for a second, trying to control his breathing, trying to decide how to react to her being here. What is he allowed to? Can he hug her? He’s never been the one to do that, always her leading and him following. He knows he has to ask her if she’s back, but he’s afraid to. Is he allowed to beg her to stay, again?

“What are you looking for?” he asks over his shoulder.

The pause before she answers is so long he ends up turning around to see her just to make sure she is still there. She’s looking down at some objects she’s gathered around her feet.

“A watch.” She says.

Her father’s, he realises.

“It was here. Now it’s not.” She adds.

He takes a couple of steps towards her. “Try the stand.” He suggests, nodding at the chest on the other side of the wardrobe.

Clarke cuts him a suspicious glare before circling where she is and checking the stand. She doesn’t kneel, he notices, staying on her feet, in case she has to bolt. She’s completely alert, even in the grounds of Arkadia, even in her room, even with him right here.

An inhale of breath escapes her lips when she finds the watch. Bellamy watches her touch it with so much care. She lets out another noise, releasing the breath again. He thinks her fur-covered shoulders relax with that sound.

“Your mom moved some of your things.” He explains. Abby seemed to struggle like he had. On the one hand she’d refused any suggestion the room should be cleared and assigned to someone else, but she’d also gathered the few of Clarke’s belongings that had been left and put them away. Out of mind for her, or so other people didn’t see it, Bellamy didn’t know.

“Thank you, Bellamy.” She says, still focused on the watch in her hands.

“She’s probably still awake if you want to see her.” Bellamy offers. Abby doesn’t seem to have slept much since Clarke left. He knows the feeling.

Clarke tenses again, going completely still. She pockets the watch, putting it away somewhere under all her layers before tidying the mess she’s made, putting everything back where it was, as she stands up. “I’m not staying.” She rejects.

Though he’d been expecting it, it still hurts. He feels that same panic from 2 weeks ago when he asked her to come inside, and she ignored him.

“But…” he stops himself, clamping down his jaw before arguing with her to stay, begging her to stay. “How did you even get in here?” he questions instead, angry.

“Raven. I radioed her.”

When, he wants to ask. How? Raven knew Clarke was coming and she didn’t tell him. He wouldn’t have known she’d been back. Bellamy bows his head as he stands with his hands on his hips, feeling the anger grow.

“It’s good to see you, Bellamy.” Clarke says suddenly standing right in front of him.

“Is it?” he snaps back before he can stop himself.

Clarke doesn’t bite, her mouth curling into a tiny, understanding smile instead that deflates all the righteousness he was feeling. She seems like the Clarke he knows, the one he misses every fucking day. The one who is supposed to be here with him.

She walks around, opening the door and leaving him standing there. Fuck that. He follows her, tempted to yell her name, to cause a commotion and let everyone know she’s here so maybe she’ll have to stay. But he can’t, he can’t betray her like that, can’t start the upset he knows it will cause her. So he just follows after her, hurrying his way through the Ark until he spots her leaving one of the exits around the south side.

He lunges for her when she takes a step forward. One hand on her shoulder and the other at her waist, he hauls her back until she’s pressed against him.

“The guard routine has been changed,” he whispers harshly in her ear as he watches the yard. “So unless you want everyone to know you’re here, stay quiet and don’t move.”

She does neither, though not because she’s pulling away or making herself get noticed. He swears he feels her tremble against him. _Shiver_. “Wait.” he says it slowly and as close as he can, his mouth touching the shell of her ear, testing a theory he has no right to test. But he can’t regret it because she does it again, trembles, and this time it comes with the slightest moan. The heavy breath he lets out in reaction works the same way, this time she pushes back against him.

Fuck.

He drops his head on her shoulder as he tries to get a hold of himself, tries to realise what’s happening. They can’t, not now, not like this. But Clarke doesn’t seem to share his reservations, tilting her head, stretching her neck. All he has to do shift just slightly, turning his head so he can put his lips on her neck. He doesn’t even think the way he touches her can be called a kiss, barely just brushing his mouth against her pulse point, the furs on her shoulder tickling against his chin. It affects both of them though because he is touching her, Clarke, in a way that is not of friends, or co-leaders, or whatever else they’ve been. And Clarke in turn reaches back, grabbing at his thigh and anchoring herself closer to him.

Bellamy does something stupid then but he can’t help it. She’s here. She’s here in his arms and seemingly wanting him and making moans and gasps just from him barely touching her. She’s here, all he’s wanted since she walked away. She wants him back, all he’s wanted for too long now. So he can’t help it when he takes his hand from her waist, lifts the ends of the fur cloak she wears so there’s less between them and then repositions his hand at the lower part of her hip, sliding it inwards until he has a full hand over her, and then pulls her back tighter. Her ass is moulded against his crotch and there’s no way she can’t feel him. The way she practically squirms indicates she feels him entirely.

“Bellamy,” she pants. It has him tightening his grip on her. “Bellamy, I have to go,” She breathes and that is not what he wants to hear. She doesn’t pull away from him though. “I only had a 20 minute period.” She explains.

His clouded mind clears enough for him to realise what she means. Raven probably only disconnected the fence for that time. But he doesn’t want her to go.

“Bellamy.” She repeats and he swears he hears trust in that word. Like she expects he’ll help her, like she expects him to understand, even if it’s to leave him.

That expectation, imagined or otherwise, allows him to lift his head and assess the guards. “Another minute.” He says quietly, the gruffness in his voice showing how much he’s affected.

“Mmm.” She moans back at him, arching into him and he swears she’s trying to ruin him right here. If he’d known Clarke would react so much from something so simple as her neck being touched, he probably would have tried it ages ago.

“Clarke.” He practically grunts, struggling to process that this is happening.

She must be more of mind than he is, maybe she never lost how alert and ready she was, because she steps forward, breaking the hold on him. When he looks up, it’s clear. She doesn’t even look at him as she hurriedly makes her way behind one of the outposts that’s still being built. Bellamy follows her, because how can he not? He ignores the discomfort of moving fast with a hard-on.

She’s stilled at the fence and he takes the opportunity to grab her hand and spin her around to face him. He blames the panic, the want to beg her not to go, the fear he might not see her again, the sexual want he can feel in every part of him, the anger that she can leave him when he can’t stop chasing her. It’s the combination, he wouldn’t do it otherwise, he tells himself. But his hand cups her cheek and he’s pressing his lips against hers before he knows he’s doing it.

Clarke meets him breath for breath. She kisses him back, opening her mouth and putting her tongue in his mouth to toy with his. There isn’t any hesitation in her actions. He’s a little shocked by how aggressive she is, so quickly, but she is Clarke, when has she ever been reserved about what she decides she wants to do? And fuck, he loves it. After 2 weeks without her, wondering if he meant much to her at all, having her now so obviously want him does something to him. His free hand joins his other, cupping her face in both his hands, sliding one back further until his fingers touch her neck and her hair as he moves his lips against her.

They break apart out of breath. He watches her blink her eyes open and even in the dark he can see her pupils are blown wide. Bellamy brushes his thumb against her cheek, dipping lower until he traces over her bottom lip. She wets her lips, her tongue teasing his thumb. He doesn’t know if it’s deliberate but it has him learning forward to kiss her again.

She kisses him back again but there’s no tongue this time and she stops it quickly with a moan that cuts off.

“I have to go.” She says and Bellamy has to take a second because he’s forgotten where the hell they are. When he remembers he wishes he hadn’t. How can she go now? Doesn’t this change anything for her?

“Clarke.” He breathes desperately, staring at her. She can’t go.

She tugs his hand before letting go and turning away, moving for the fence. Bellamy takes it as a silent request, whether it was intended to be or not, and does what he’s been doing since he saw her crouched in her room, hell, practically since they landed, he follows her.

He watches her pick up a stick lying there, test it against the fence before she slips through, taking the stick with her. He goes after her, ducking through the fence lines and out into the surrounding open, going around to avoid anyone from Arkadia seeing her, seeing them. Staying quiet, he resists the urge to call after her in case she’s unaware he’s behind her and she’ll stop him following her. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, there’s no way she doesn’t know he’s trailing her footsteps, but still, he’s quiet, not wanting to risk it.

They’re about 20 feet past the tree line when Clarke stops and turns to face him. It’s so dark, the light of the moon splitting through the trees the only real light. Bellamy doesn’t know who moves first, only that they surge together, their mouths connecting and nipping at each other. He does know he’s the one that backs them against a tree, and Clarke is the one who goes for his pants, unbuckling and shoving them down his hips before pushing her own down.

He separates himself from her when she lets out a frustrated huff against his mouth, shifting. Bending down he helps her shimmy out of her pants, sliding them down her legs until he’s pulling at her laces and tugging her boots off, followed by her pants. She slides her panties down her thighs. Before pulling them off her, he grips her legs where the panties sit in place. Clarke stills her squirming under his hands. He keeps his head bowed, trying to control his breathing as his hands clamp around her.

“Bellamy.” She whispers, gentle and out of breath and soft.

He yanks the panties down quickly, adding them to the pile of her boots and pants. Standing up, he takes a single step back just to look at her. Clarke Griffin stands bare from the waist down right in front of him, because of him. Her pale skin seems to reflect the moonlight, practically glowing.

“Bellamy.” She repeats, this time urgent and demanding and frustrated. He responds to it just as much, closing the distance between them again. She reaches out for him as he does, holding his t-shirt and dragging him into her space as much as possible.

They’re in sync, her hooking her leg over his hip just as he reaches for it. He holds her leg against him. It sits high, at an angle because of their height difference, but it also opens her up to him and he wastes no time in sliding his other hand between them until he’s touching her.

She snaps her back, her head hitting the tree and tilting her body at him the second his fingers touch her cunt.

Fuck. She’s soaking, her arousal covering his fingertips just from sliding over her entrance. He knows how worked up he is from so little, but he also knows so much of that is because of how long he’s wanted her, because he thought he’d only dream this, because she’s been gone. For her to be as turned on as she is blows his mind.

“Clarke,” he pants out, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “You’re…fuck!” he curses as she moans. It’s a new moan, a longer one. One that he feels go through him.

Her hips tilt towards him even more. He can feel her pushing herself onto her tip-toes with the one foot she still has on the ground, trying to get closer to him.

Bellamy isn’t tentative as he runs his middle and index finger up and down, enjoying the gasp she lets out as he slides over her clit before moving down again. He isn’t slow as he pushes his middle finger inside her, his index finger quickly joining because she’s so wet.

He breathes heavily through his nose as he feels her, turning to bury his face into her neck. She’s so hot and he can feel her gripping his fingers.

He pumps his fingers into her a half dozen times before pressing his thumb on her clit, sliding easily over her because of how wet she is. He’s only circled her twice when she shoves at him, pushing his torso. “Bellamy,” she whines, the demand heavy in her voice. “Hurry up.”

Raising his head, he focuses on her face. “You want…” he struggles to process, to think of anything other than the wet and the heat of her. He struggles to stop sliding his thumb over her clit, feeling the silky slip of her. He can _hear_ how wet she is, everything but them so quiet in the woods.

“Yes!” Clarke sighs with her eyes closed. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” She mumbles, barely spoken in a breath.

He has to let her leg down to push his pants past his hips as they hang on him and he feels an irrational annoyance at having to let go of her for even a second. She wobbles, fully leaning back against the tree to steady herself, both her hands flat against the bark by her sides as she takes deep breaths.

Taking the final tiny steps towards her, getting as close as he, Bellamy stands and just looks at her for a second. Her head is tipped back, her eyes still closed.

“Bellamy.” She breathes with complaint.

“Wait,” he says as he reaches out to touch her jaw. “Just…wait.” He traces her face with his eyes, scanning over everything he can see is the dark. His touch on her jaw firms, turning and bringing her closer to him as he meets her mouth with his again. His dick presses against her stomach, both against skin and the material of the clothes still covering the upper half of her body.

Clarke’s hands climb his back, pulling him into her. She reaches his neck, then his hair as they take a breath and realign their lips, before she settles her hands around his neck in a loop. He takes the position as a chance to wind his own hands down and around until he’s gripping her thighs and lifting her, Clarke’s grip on his neck immediately tightening as she helps, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heat now rubbing against his dick. He curls his left arm under her ass to keep her there and uses his other to line himself up with her. Clarke’s with him every step, pushing down on his neck as she lifts herself up higher, the muscles in her legs tightening until finally the head of his dick is at her entrance and he slowly pushes inside.

He ends up stumbling forward, Clarke bumping the tree, the small space they’d created gone again. Bracing his right hand against the bark above her head, Bellamy stills. He’s sure he’s only half inside her but she’s so fucking tight. Clarke’s the one who completes them, lowering herself down the rest of the way and all Bellamy is aware of heat, heat, heat. Clarke.

He has to tear his mouth away from hers, settling his head to the side. “Clarke.” He pants at the shell of her ear. She whimpers at that, something of a determined moan following and then she’s lifting herself up and down on him and it’s too much. His fingers press into her skin where he holds her as he trusts into her.

It’s not graceful, and it’s not careful. It’s frenzied and urgent and _need_. So much need. He has a half, incomplete thought at one point that the layers and the furs she still wears protect her back from getting scratched to hell from the tree. Her neck where he’s buried his head starts to sweat and it’s hot and it’s Clarke and Bellamy thinks he could just stay there, enveloped by her, forever. But Clarke shows her want to be completely satisfied, her pussy gripping him as she leans back, trying to use the tree as leverage to get herself off. He drags his nose higher up her neck, feeling the cool air hit his face, and adjusts her in his hold, hiking her up. She gasps at the impact, at how deep it helps him go.

Bellamy fucks her, thrusting in and out of her heat.

He barely feels the bark breaking under his hand, all his senses so consumed by Clarke as she meets his rhythm. He doesn’t last very long, feeling the build up quickly, his balls tightening. He doesn’t try to delay it either, can’t even think about it.

He lets out a heavy groan as he comes inside her.

“Clarke.” He repeats in a whisper, unable to think about anything else, about the fact that he’s still inside her, that she’s moving her hips in tiny circles, impatient for her own release even as she hums at him.

Blinking out of his thoughts, Bellamy shuffles back and dips Clarke back slightly so there’s some room and he can let go of the tree to focus on her instead. He knows he should let her down, maybe get on his knees and bring her to orgasm with his fingers and his mouth, or take the furs off her and lie her down on them, but he doesn’t want to pull out of her. He wants to feel her come on his cock, even if he’s not fully hard anymore.

It takes her less time than him. A dozen circles and he does get to feel her come on his cock.

It’s her comedown and not his own that has reality seeping into him. Her final pants, now slower, are suddenly so loud, making him remember they’re in the woods. The woods where any Grounder could come across them, can probably hear them from far away. There hasn’t been anything since Mount Weather but that doesn’t mean they aren’t keeping an eye.

He and Clarke just fucked in the woods.

Jesus.

Did they really just do that? It seems insane.

She just turns up and he chases after her and…they do that?

What’s maybe the stupidest thing of all is he wants to do it again. He wants to kiss her again. He wants to take her back inside. He wants to make up for every second she's been gone.

Clarke tenses her legs and shifts against him, clearly wanting to be let go of. He takes the cue and lowers her down, finally separating from her. His hands linger on her even as she stands on her own feet, not wanting to let go of her. But she steps back and turns, pulling down a layer that’s ridden up her stomach slightly, before gathering her clothes from the pile he put them in earlier.

He watches her quickly step into her panties and pants, no indication of any discomfort, no indication of his come that he knows is on her inner thighs. Her lack of acknowledgment to what they’ve done emphasises his inability to do anything but focus on it, causing him to yank his own pants up as he stands like an asshole with his dick out.

The sounds of his straps and buckle fill the air now. It’s only now he realises he isn’t even wearing a jacket, didn’t even think about it as he followed her out here.

Bellamy watches her tug her boots on where she stands, waiting for her to look at him again. The moonlight shines against the blonde of her hair.

He takes a breath. “Please come back with me.” He tries to keep his voice steady but he can hear himself practically pleading.

“Bellamy.” She sighs.

“Clarke,” he exhales, trying to control how much he wants to lash out at her. “You can’t just…” he cuts himself off. Can’t what? Can’t just turn up and leave again? Can’t just sleep with him with barely a word? Can’t just walk away with his come still on her? What the fuck is he going to say? You can’t just take my heart away with you again?

“There’s a series of caves, North of the falls,” she says as she finishes tying her boots. She adjusts her furs before turning to face him. “Meet me in a week? Here, at dusk.”

He wants to argue with her. He wants to demand she come back with him. He wants to ask her where has she been? What is she doing? Is she okay? Can he go with her? Does she even miss him? But he doesn’t say any of that; he knows she wouldn’t respond to any of them.

“Okay.” He agrees instead, because he doesn’t know how not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this is obvious but I'm not part of the fandom and never have been, and so while I can't speak to it for sure, I'd guess this was a fairly discussed and ficced concept. Still, I hope you enjoy this and I hope there's something unique about it.
> 
> Thank you for reading. If you liked it, let me know? It's my first long, multi-chaptered Bellarke fic so feel free to pep talk me through it :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to get the next chapter done and posted tomorrow. I want to blitz through this thing while I'm thinking about it so much because I have bad habits with long, multi-chaptered fics that I'd like to break. If we're still here next week, you're all going to have to nag me (feel free to).
> 
> There will be about 8 or 9 chapters.

He spends the week questioning if it really happened. There isn’t anything tangible to say it did. There’s a mark on his hand that at first he’s sure is from bark, but when he looks at the other scrapes and dirt covering his hands, he questions it. It could be from anything. Her room doesn’t look she’s been there. There isn’t a thing out of place. Even if he could work himself up enough to make himself go through her stuff, he couldn’t even say for sure if her dad’s watch was ever there. Maybe she left with it. He doesn’t know.

He finds himself looking at Raven to see if she knows, if she knows he and Clarke fucked against a tree, but there’s nothing about her demeanour that says she knows anything. But then he finds himself looking closer to see if she gives away the fact that she knew Clarke was here at all, and there’s nothing. Raven has no problem looking in him the eye, shows as much attitude as usual, and her smiles seem more genuine than ever the more days she and Wick spend together in mech.

The whole thing has him alternating back and forth in this conflicting mess. Sometimes he finds himself feeling such appreciation for Raven on behalf of Clarke, for being there for her, for being loyal. The rest of the time he grows resentful and nears distrusting, angry that she would really let him remain oblivious that Clarke had been here. Clarke could have come home and he wouldn’t have had a clue, and Raven seems fine with that.

It’s frustrating as hell and he does wonder if he dreamt the whole thing. If maybe he missed Clarke so much he created some fantasy in his head. That makes him question his opinion of himself more than ever if even the Clarke he dreams of doesn’t choose to stay with him, if even his dream Clarke leaves him as well.

The more they make their way through the week, the more he finds himself avoiding Raven.

He can’t even look at Abby.

 

He forgives the mechanic the second he sees Clarke again. She’s there, it happened. _She’s there, it happened._

It’s not dusk yet, the sun still in the sky, but she’s standing where they last saw each other, waiting for him. He feels elation go through him, fucking excitement. And relief.

 

“You’re here.” She says with some awe as she looks at him, her eyes wide and blue. He’d missed seeing them last time, too dark to really see.

Bellamy stills. “You didn’t think I would be?” he frowns.

“I don’t know,” she replies quietly, her eyeline dropping away from him. “I know I don’t deserve…” she trails off, looking away with guilt he really doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want her to be here out of guilt. They were supposed to deal with all of that together, not be part of it, not make it worse for each other.

“There’s no way that I wasn’t going to be here, Clarke.” He says steadily, making sure it’s heard. It brings her focus back to him, at least.

“Come on.”

“Wait,” he stops her. “Where are we going? What are we doing?”

“I…” she blinks. “I wanted to see you.”

“ _See me_?” he can’t help but question. What does that mean? See him? Sleep with him?

She opens her mouth before closing it again. It’s so un-Clarke like, so unsure, it scares him a little.

“You said something about caves?” he reminds her, grabbing for anything he can.

“This way. Out of the open.”

 

“How did you find these?” he asks, looking around the large space. He’s been in a number of caves since they landed, but this one is bigger than the others. He wonders what the rest of the grouping are like, why she chose this one.

“Finn used to go exploring, at night,” Clarke replies, dumping her backpack and making her way to what’s a pre-set fire. “He came across all sorts of things. An automobile, a bunker,” she lists as she crouches down and lights the fire. “Caves.”

“Right.” He says looking away, trying to swallow back the resentment he feels bubbling. So this was some hook up place of Clarke and Finn’s? Great.

They’re both quiet as he tries not to imagine Clarke and Finn in different corners of the cave and she lights the few torches that are set up.

“I remembered he told me about them, I hadn’t seen them before.” Clarke shrugs, overly casual as she goes back to the fire.

Bellamy stares at her as she concentrates of fanning the flames. Maybe he didn’t hide any of that resentment then. Hell, jealously. He’d been envious most of his life, bitter that he had burdens others didn’t, but jealously is less familiar. He never cared about anybody enough to be jealous over.

“After I left,” Clarke continues. “I looked for them, stayed here for the first few days before going further north.”

“How far north?” he asks, grateful for the easy way she reassures him. He and Finn didn’t agree much on anything but they formed some kind of friendship by the end that he doesn’t want to mess with in his head. Clarke is quiet, pretty much ignoring his question about where she’s been. “Clarke?” he prompts in a different tone, accepting she’s not going to tell him anything about it.

“Hm?” she hums at him, looking much more intent on the fire than he believes she is.

“Can I kiss you?”

She turns to him with a smile that lights up her face. She nods as she bites her bottom lip, tempering her smile. “Yes.” She says quietly, standing up.

Bellamy closes the distance between them in a couple of strides and takes a hold of her before walking them both backwards, taking her away from the fire. “It’s been a long week.” He sighs against her mouth. Resting his forehead against hers he’s still for a moment, just enjoying holding her, the solid feel of her in his arms after a week of wondering if he’d imagined her.

He relishes how slow it is, after last time. That he can see everything.

He pushes the furs off her shoulders first, they land with a bit of a thud. The loose top she wears is next, and finally the long-sleeved top under it. He takes them off one by one, kissing her between each item as she raises her arms to help.

It’s the opposite of last time. Her upper body is bared first and he gets to lie her down this time. They’re both naked.

He’s sure she’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. But then because she’s Clarke, she ups it because no standard is ever high enough. Her breasts are incredible and it isn’t just the size, or even the perfect rose-coloured nipples that immediately harden just from the cool air, it’s how damn responsive they are. She whimpers under him, arching her back fully off the ground. The way her hand settles and tightens in his hair the second he tongues her nipple has him rethinking going slow. He’s painfully, pathetically hard without being touched.

She cradles him between her thighs and he hikes her right leg high against his hip as he enters her. She quickly brings up her other leg, gripping him.

He feels all the breath leave her body. She tips her head back as he pulls out, but he wants to look at her, so as he slides back inside he brushes his right thumb across her jawline, bringing her forward again.

“Clarke.” He says gruffly, watching her eyes flutter open as he stares down at her.

Her eyes narrow as she tries to focus on him, her breathing becoming heavier as he starts moving in and out of her. She moves with him, her hands fisting the furs on either side move to his face, and his neck, pulling him even closer to kiss him.

He keeps his fingers on her jawline, and her throat, marvelling at how much she tilts her head back when he drags his thumb down the side of her throat and he finds his eyes trailing down to watch her breasts raise and fall with her pants.

He rocks into her, over and over.

His thumb ends up back on her face as her mouth falls open, and her eyebrows pinch together as her eyes close and he can’t stop looking at her.

It’s not desperate like last time, it’s not a clouded haze of need. He feels every second of it. There’s a clarity that’s terrifyingly new to him, except he recognises the way she moans.

 

“We could do this in a real bed if you come back.” He says as they lie there.

“This isn’t romantic enough for you?” she questions with what he thinks is some amusement.

That stuns him a bit. “I’m not sure I know what romance is.” He realises with a frown.

Clarke raises her head to look around them. “Low, warm lighting, fire, wild nature… I think this kind of covers it. Classically speaking.” She says in mock-seriousness, her eyebrows overly furrowed.

“Yeah?” he asks as he rolls over on top of her.

She lets out a squeak. “Yeah.” She breathes, spreading her legs.

“I’ll make sure to remember that.” He says calmly as he guides his cock inside her. She’s still wet from before, from her arousal and both their come.

Her breath catches. “I’m full of…use… _ohh_.” She moans, her hands clutching his arms.

“What was that?” he asks, stilling. He tries to keep the smirk off his face.

“I’m full of useful information, shut up!” she says in a rush, making him laugh. Bellamy doesn’t remember ever laughing during sex before. It’s not an experience he thought he would enjoy so much. Is that romantic?

He kisses her grin, feeling his lips touch her teeth before she kisses him back.

 

He thinks about it and decides he doesn’t think Clarke’s classic version of romance is romantic. He decides the setting of the cave isn’t romantic. He likes her lying spread out in front of him. He likes that they’re alone in the space. The fire is good too, to feel the heat of it on her skin, to see the glow on her body, but Bellamy had enough sex in his tent at the dropship, with furs and surrounded by nature, and a nature that was still brand new, to know it’s something else that makes it romantic, because that wasn’t like this. There was nothing romantic about any of it then, nothing that made him feel warm, or loving. Nothing even near joy or happiness. It was sex. Sex in a place surrounded by nature. It did the job, it helped the image of himself he was trying to project and it was a good distraction when he didn’t want to think and was trying to hide that he was thinking at all.

It was nothing like this.

There was no wanting. Nothing about any of it that made him want to curl into the moment like it mattered, like it could be all that mattered. It didn’t connect with who or what he was. It didn’t make him feel much of anything, and he wasn’t looking for it to.

It didn’t make him feel the belonging he feels here with Clarke. Like it’s right, and he doesn’t have to be anything but who he is.

Is it love? Is that the difference? Does a romantic setting only feel romantic if there’s something like love? It’s not like he could say he understands love either, not romantic love.

Someone challenging him to be better, someone who stands ready to take on the world and all the shit that comes with it, for others. Someone who riles something in him, and then soothes it all away. Someone he has to chase but is by his side already when he needs them. Maybe it’s the epic and tragic depictions of love, of heroes, of fight, that he consumed most of his life but those things instil some kind of understanding of romance in him that a fire and low-light setting does not.

Even the death, the shitty choices, don’t seem totally out of place to him. He hadn’t really thought about it until now but them standing together – coming back together – through it all seems to define something of romance, maybe.

Bellamy is not a romantic. He wouldn’t have said Clarke is either. But maybe there’s something there, _together_ , he can understand as romance.

He doesn’t tell Clarke any of that though. If she wants the fire, the furs and the elements, he’ll share them with her. He just wants her. He just wants the noise she makes as he runs a finger down her neck as he lies on his side and looks down at her next to him, the way she stretches to encourage the touch, the soft smile on her face as he drags down to her collarbone. That murmur, that curve of her lips, Bellamy doesn’t say that he’s sure that’s exemplifies romance as much as anything will to him.

 

Sometime through the night Clarke jolts awake next to him, bringing him out his doze.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough. She looks at him with wide, scared eyes before turning to scan the cave. He sees the second she swallows it all back, the fear becoming guilt. It’s obvious this is a pretty regular thing. Bellamy doesn’t have nightmares about Mount Weather. He doesn’t need to, he’s haunted by it all through the day. The more and more stuff they bring from there, Jasper wandering around like he’s carrying a ghost with him, or he’s the ghost himself, the bruises on Harper and Monty that seemed to take forever to fade. “You’re okay.” He assures her.

Reaching for the furs they’re using with his free, right hand, he pulls them high until they’re completely covering Clarke. He brings her closer with his left arm that’s curled around her so she’s cocooned against him and blanketed.

Her hand touches his chest. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?” he looks down at her.

She’s quiet and Bellamy knows she’s not going to say whatever she was thinking about even before she utters “Nevermind.”

Bellamy shifts onto his side so he’s facing her. She still lies on his arm that’s under her neck.

“Go back to sleep.” He whispers, reaching out to stroke some hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. She closes her eyes at the action and Bellamy finds himself doing the movement over and over, just stroking her hair slowly as he stares at her. Maybe she won’t share her nightmares with him, even her guilt at what they did, but she trusts him enough to go to sleep in his arms, she trusts him enough that she chooses to go to sleep in his arms.

He's sure he can’t understand any kind of romance that doesn’t include trust.

 

Something about the morning seems to change things. Maybe it's his fault.

He asks as they’re packing things up.

“Have you been in contact with Raven again this week?” he’s still unsure what Raven knows and he’d like to have an idea for how to handle things. He doesn’t want a repeat of this last week. People rely on him to have things together and he can’t do that if he’s an irritated and confused ass.

Clarke stops what she’s doing and looks at him with a frown. “No, why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine,” he quickly reassures her. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just,” he shrugs. “I wondered if you’d reached out to her,” he explains “Or her to you.”

Clarke goes back to folding their bedding away. “She can’t reach out to me.”

“What’d you mean?” he asks, his eyebrows lowering.

“I don’t have an accessible radio, Bellamy. Raven can’t contact me.” She explains, almost curtly.

“I can bring you one, a radio.” He offers with a shrug. What does that mean, he wonders. Did she go to Mount Weather to radio Raven? God, he hopes not.

“I don’t want one,” she says through gritted teeth. She turns to him with a sigh as she drops the things she was holding. “I left, Bellamy.”

He stares at her. “And then you came back.” He says with some attitude, narrowing his eyes.

“For one thing,” she corrects. “I’m not back,” her eyebrows are raised as she looks back at him. “Please don’t do this.”

He really resents how soft she can look, how reasonable she can sound, as she continues to rip into his heart.

“So this is it?” he shrugs at the cave. “I just get to see you last night and then you’re gone again?”

She turns her focus away from him briefly. “Unless you want to meet next week.”

 

They leave the cave not long before dawn, the sun is glowing just below the horizon. She walks him back to the boundary line near the trees, out of eyeline of any of their people. Bellamy stares at what he can see of the metal frame of their home in the sky, wondering if he even wants to go back without Clarke.

“Do you need me to meet you here next time, or do you know the way now?” she asks.

“I got it.”

He looks at her in the light of dawn, his focus tracing over her face. He wants to fight, but he knows he’s already defeated. Maybe he has been since she dismissed his attempt to give her forgiveness, as she had for him. But he can still have something of her, and in ways, it’s more of her than he’s ever had.

Swooping down he kisses her before he can second guess himself, out here in the nearing daylight. His fingers touch her cheek before reaching back to cup her neck, feeling her hair. In response, she brings her hand up to his face, her fingertips touching near both their mouths. The tips of her fingers stay pressed against him even after he pulls back. She moves them until she’s gently tracing over the corner of his mouth, the edges of his lips. He watches as she bites her bottom lip, chewing on it, as she stares at him.

He has no idea what she’s thinking. He thinks he could guess, but she’s still leaving so he can’t be right. Unless he’s just not right enough, again. There’s a half-formed thought about Greek lovers continually separated, never truly finding each other, never in charge of their own destinies, that runs through his head. He closes his eyes, pushing the thought away as he takes her hand from his face, holding it in his hand instead. He won’t be powerless, something a story just happens to. If this is his, he’s telling at least half of it.

He doesn’t hug her, though he wants to. It would feel too much like their goodbye, he thinks, and he doesn’t want that. Whatever this is now, it’s different than then. He refuses to pretend otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you like it.
> 
> And especially thank you for kudos and comments :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written a bunch of characters, so hopefully they're okay.

She isn’t there the following week. He lasts about an hour after the sun has fully gone down before checking the other surrounding caves, in case…just in case. Then he tries to find his way to the nearby falls because it’s the only close landmark he knows of. He gets lost on the way back, panic and frustration running through as he thinks maybe she’s there now, waiting for him, and he’s stuck in these fucking woods, going around in circles in the dark.

He makes it back; Clarke still isn’t there.

Bellamy goes every night that week. He doesn’t know what else to do.

He thinks about asking Raven for help. Even if she can’t directly get in touch with Clarke, she’s a genius, surely she can think of something. But every time he thinks about it he sees Clarke telling him she doesn’t want to come back and he just can’t. Maybe she wasn’t there because she’s angry at him, because he pushed too much. If he gets others involved maybe they’ll push her away forever and it will be his fault.

He thinks about talking to Lincoln. He’d know the area better than anyone, would think of things Bellamy wouldn’t. He’d be smart about it, and calm. He’d be like Clarke about it. But Lincoln can’t leave Arkadia and he’s sure there's little Lincoln doesn't share with Octavia and she would probably insist they search until they found her, as if it was simple.

He tells himself to think like Clarke would, logically, with his head.

It’s Clarke, if anyone can survive, it’s her. If something happened and she’s hurt, she has the knowhow to treat it and she couldn’t travel anyway and it makes sense not to. No Grounder is going to go after her and not let her people know, not brag or use her for a trade, he’s sure. He knows Kane has set up contact with Indra and no matter how far north Clarke is, she’d have to pass Trikru boundaries.

She’s okay, she has to be.

He has to at least give it the week before completely freaking out and involving everyone. He still checks every night.

 

There’s a regular patrol with the others he has to get out of to make it the fourth night. Octavia hassles him about why, staring at him with a scowl as if she can get it out of him when he says it’s nothing. Bellamy meets her glare and keeps his mouth shut.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She finally gives in before storming towards the Rover they’ve been testing.

“Heyyy, is that back?” Jasper asks as he approaches. He’s clearly been drinking, again, though by his movement, it’s just enough to be a vicious dick and not to pass out, again. “Whatever the hell we want!” he yells. “Makes sense. It is the ultimate justification, right?” he looks at Bellamy. “For starting fights,” he clicks his fingers and points at him. “Hanging people. Classic Bellamy Blake,” he nods with a smirk before he turns serious again, overly thoughtful. “Or would that be shooting someone? We’ve come up with so many ways to kill people, I just can’t keep up…” he adds with a dramatic shrug.

Bellamy puts his hands on his hips and bows his head, taking a calming a breath. “Anyway, piece de resistance!” Jasper perks up, making Bellamy turn to him again. All humour is gone from his face and he looks completely sober, raising his chin as he meets Bellamy’s eyes. “Irradiating your friend’s girlfriend,”

“Jasper.” Bellamy utters, not having a clue what else to say to him.

Monty quickly walks up his best friend. “Move.” He orders Jasper, shoving him forward.

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Jasper says, the glee back in his voice. He leans back and slowly shimmies his shoulders “Whatever the hell we want!” he whoops to the air.

Monty shares a sad smile with him, the same one they all give each other now. “We’ll see you when we get back.” He says quietly.

Bellamy swallows his upset and nods.

“Hey, Miller!” Jasper greets as Miller joins them at the back of the Rover.

“Sit your ass down, Jasper.” Miller says as he climbs inside.

“Miller, so manly!” Jasper compliments, leaning against the vehicle and looking inside. “Remember ‘whatever the hell we want’, Miller? I guess Clarke was the one to really adopt that huh?” he questions with raised eyebrows like they’re talking about something funny. “I mean, we could ask her, except she isn’t here,” his eyes go wide. “I guess she’s the kill and run type.”

Bellamy see red and finds himself taking a stride forward.

“Hey!” Raven stops him with a palm on his chest. He takes a couple of steps back.

“I’m fine.” He insists immediately, trying to convince himself as much as her. He takes deep breaths. If Jasper is making little digs while Clarke is… He clenches his jaw.

“Sure you are,” Raven says sarcastically, looking him up and down with obvious judgement. “I’ll keep ‘em in line,” she assures with her confidence, shrugging one shoulder with fake-modesty before she turns serious again. “Is something going on?”

Bellamy meets her concerned face and he wants to tell her. If nothing else, Raven knows that Clarke was here. She could understand. She could… He turns away, breaking eye contact before he blabs everything.

“There’s just something I have to do.” He says.

Raven’s lips twitch as she assesses him. “Okay,” she shrugs again, accepting his excuse. “We’ll see you later.” She gives a close-mouthed smile before going around the front of the Rover and getting back in the driver seat.

He goes to close the back door. Jasper salutes him from where he sits inside. Monty next to him, yanks Jasper’s hand down from his face. Octavia across from the two stares at him suspiciously until he closes the door, blocking his vision of her.

 

Clarke’s still not there. There’s no sign of her at all. Waiting until sometime close to midnight, he sits with his back against the cave wall. Light from the one torch he’s lit dies down and he stares at the remnants of the burned-out fire pit, some kind of proof he is waiting for something real.

 

The 5th and 6th night go much the same way, except Bellamy’s not sure if he waits in the cave as long because of the chance Clarke might turn up, or because he’s avoiding everyone else.

He’s starting to feel empty, like something is missing inside of him. Like he’s lost his fight and he’s in some mindless daze that never seems to stop. It doesn’t really make sense to him. He’d kept so much of what he was thinking, feeling, inside for so much of his life. The biggest thing in his world couldn’t even leave the one room. That changed when they got to ground and all structure, everything that he and his mom had put in place to help them keep things hidden was gone. Endless woods and dozens and dozens of people replacing that one room and he didn’t know what was safe anymore so judged that nothing could be. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, trust anything or anyone and would figure it out himself, for Octavia. He wouldn’t rely on anything but himself.

That’s all been chipped away, but Clarke was the main thing that chipped it away. She was the centre, the driving force behind not just the change, but accepting that it had changed. He understood why she left, he did, he got it. It was something she had to do for herself. He wished he’d been enough to change her mind, he wished he could have been what she’d been for him, but he wasn’t and that…he could accept that. He did accept that. He’d decided right then and there as she walked away that he could keep going with what they had started, together. That he’d better it as much as he could until she got back, believing that she would come back.

He misses her. It’s worse now because he knows what it’s like to have her, he misses her in whole new ways.

He’s not used to feeling alone like this anymore and part of him is angry at himself for getting used to people, to having friends, back up, Clarke. He’s pretty sure he’s fucked if he loses it all.

For someone who lived most his life with secrets, he’s having real difficulty keeping this one. He hates feeling so useless.

 

He’s standing by the entrance of the Ark on the 6th night, well after dark, staring at the yard in front and at what he can of the trees above the Arkadia fencing, wondering if Clarke is somehow out there. He looks around at the difference inside the fence. There’s so much change going on as they continue to build. Clarke is missing all of it, he’s starting to miss all of it.

Lincoln silently sides up to him, taking a place beside him.

“Octavia send you?” Bellamy asks, figuring that’s what brought the Grounder out here.

“She’s convinced you’re hiding something.”

“She should mind her own business.” Bellamy rebukes, sighing as he almost immediately regrets it.

Lincoln doesn’t call him on it. “You’ve left camp every night this week,” he notes instead. Bellamy turns to look at him for the first time. “You notice people leaving when you can’t leave yourself,” Lincoln explains. “Are you looking for something in particular?” he asks easily. Annoyingly easily. Bellamy wonders who else has noticed and how much. It hasn’t exactly been his top priority to hide it, too busy worrying about Clarke, too busy trying to keep everything inside and not yell or hit things.

He ignores the question, asking one of his own as he faces forward again. “Are they going to attack?”

“I don’t think it’s likely.” Lincoln states.

Bellamy narrows his eyes as he looks at the man. “They have a kill order on you, their own people.” He points out.

“They don’t see me as their people anymore. They see me as a traitor.” Lincoln explains calmly.

Bellamy scoffs. “Then what will they do to us?”

“You mean to Clarke,” Lincoln says. Bellamy meets his look before turning away. “There’s factions, even within the clans,” Lincoln continues when Bellamy doesn’t respond. “But Lexa is a beloved Commander. Most are loyal to her.”

“Is that supposed to help us?” Bellamy asks with a frown that deepens as the Grounder stares ahead. “Lincoln?” he prompts.

Lincoln shifts to turn towards Bellamy, lowering his voice. “Before she broke the terms of the alliance, The Commander ordered me to stay with Clarke, protect her.”

“You expect me to believe Lexa cares about Clarke?” Bellamy almost spits, feeling the anger go through him.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Lincoln dismisses. “It doesn’t even matter if it’s true or not. What matters…”

“Is if someone against Lexa believes it.” Bellamy finishes before sighing, turning towards the woods again. He hadn’t even thought of that.

Lincoln nods. “They wouldn’t be quiet about it. If someone makes a move on Clarke, we'll know.”

At least that’s along the same lines that he was thinking. Even if it happens, it doesn’t change how he would have handled this week.

Bellamy nods his thanks and understanding to Lincoln as the Grounder goes back inside and leaves him be again.

 

Three weeks since he saw her in her room, two weeks since he last saw her, a week wondering if he’d ever see her again, Clarke stands in front of him again. “Clarke,” he exhales, quickly making his way fully into the cave and closing the distance between them. “Are you okay?” he asks as he cups her face and checks her over, his hands taking a hold of her arms as he stands back and looks her over. He can feel his blood rushing.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here last week. I had to wait for a trader to finish with my goods.”

Bellamy stills, stopping his look and meets her eyes. “That’s it? _That’s_ why you weren’t here?”

Clarke frowns at him. “I said I was sorry.” She scowls defensively.

Bellamy lets go of her and stumbles back a couple of steps before fully turning away from her. Raising his head high he takes a deep, unsteady breath in and out.

“Bellamy.” She calls from behind him, soft. All he wanted to hear for the last week.

He closes his eyes and drops his head, exhaling once more before half-turning and tilting his head to look at her. The scowl is gone, instead her eyebrows pinched the way they do when she’s worried, or trying to reason. He has to look away from her.

He doesn’t tell her he came here every night. He doesn’t tell her how worried he was. He doesn’t tell her he was starting to think losing her means losing himself.

 

It’s rougher that time. He’s angry, at her, at himself, and he doesn’t want to look into her eyes, worried he’ll just give himself away, that he’ll break down and tell her what a mess he is without her and ask her why that doesn’t mean anything to her. So he flips her over and fucks her from behind. But the moans are familiar now, and the way she not only takes it but pushes her ass against him drives him a little nuts. He ends up wrapping his arm around her, over her chest, and using his other to haul her back towards him at the waist so she’s in the same position he is and her back his flat against him.

He doesn’t see her eyes this way but he is close to her. He feels her this way, like he’s sure he’s supposed to, every part of them touching. He feels every breath she takes, her breasts heaving against his arm that’s across her.

He has to clench his jaw as he hides his face in her neck, trying to stop himself from making a dick out of himself and saying something stupid like ‘You’re mine’, or ‘Please don’t leave me again’ or 'I love you'. He bites her in a bid to stop himself, nipping at the skin where her shoulder meets her neck. Clarke immediately reacts, keening as her cunts clamps down on him as an orgasm runs through her, making him suddenly come before he was ready to.

The breathy almost giggle she lets out after makes it seem like the most perfect sex ever, despite the lack of control, the anger and sudden ending.

He lowers her down on her side gently, easing out of her as he turns with her, before shifting and encouraging her to lie on her back. Her eyes are closed and she looks relaxed, a pleased smile on her face.

Starting by placing a kiss on her arm, he goes up her shoulder and around her neck, soothing where he bit her with his tongue and his lips. Bellamy practically worships her, kissing and stroking every piece of skin he can as she lies there with that same smile. She hums in approval at him, but he still can’t look her in the eye, so he keeps his focus on her body under him. She must sense he can’t look at her, that he’s switched from angry to loving in the space of an orgasm because she calls his name, gently, and with understanding. He ignores it, lifting her leg and moving until he’s settled in the cradle of her. He kisses down between her breasts, again ignoring when she says his name, until his head is between her legs and she way she says his name changes and she’s got her hand in his hair.

He can’t make her come back with him, but he can make her come, again and again.

 

In the morning he wakes up still wrapped around her, holding her from behind. He still doesn’t want to look into her eyes. He’s sure the way Clarke is slowly stroking up and down the arm he has around her is the only thing keeping his heart beating steady.

He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the back of her neck. “Next week.” He says. He doesn’t know if it’s a demand or a plea.

But Clarke’s responding “Next week.” as she pulls his arm tighter against her before continuing to run her fingers up and down his forearm sounds like a promise.

He doesn’t ask her to come back with him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll get better, I promise.
> 
> Thank you for reading and all support.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this one!

Between seemingly having some kind of falling out with Wick and her own judgement of his behaviour, Raven decides to attempt to set him up. Bellamy isn’t sure how to handle it at first. How he’s supposed to say that he’s not available. That he’s sort of with/sleeping with/maybe in love with another friend of hers. He tells her he’s not interested and that they have to focus on continuing to grow but that doesn’t seem to be good enough and she ends up introducing him to Gina.

At first he’s awkward as hell, paranoid about giving the wrong impression, pissy about what kind of impression he’s actually allowed to give and frustrated that Clarke isn’t here, where she belongs, to help him fix it. He barely meets her eye as they’re introduced and basically walks away as fast as he can. Raven shakes her head at him like she thinks he’s incompetent, he glares back.

But Gina seems okay, she isn’t pushy like he’s used to women being with him when they’re interested and seems happy enough to hang around with the others without any drama about the whole thing.

He finds himself looking at her as she laughs with Raven and Harper about something and he thinks how much easier it would be, if he was interested. For a second he questions if he could be, if he could have that life. Where his girlfriend is simple and sweet and gets along with his friends – their friends – and it works and it doesn’t hurt. Then the three of them look at him like they don’t understand why he isn’t laughing too and he realises he doesn’t have a clue what the joke is. Doesn’t have any idea what they’re talking about at all because he’s thinking about someone else. And he can’t help compare that to the fact that he doesn’t remember ever not totally noticing Clarke. From the second she came at him with a demand not to open the dropship door, fierce expectation that he would do as she said, he’s never stopped paying attention to her, never not been aware of her, never not been drawn to her. She isn’t even here but she has his attention over the multiple people who are.

He doesn’t want simple.

He doesn’t think he wants complicated either, he would happily have Clarke here, being the one laughing. But she’s not and he does want her.

It’s cemented even more when Raven and Harper just roll their eyes at him, make some comment about simple minds and Gina smiles somewhat adoringly at him and the three go right back to their conversation, not having a clue about everything going on his in head. Clarke would know, she would, he’s sure. She would know there’s something else and she’d look at him with a questioning frown meant only for him as she tried to get out the conversation without being rude, though would end up being curt anyway. And then she’d make some excuse that got them away from there, got them somewhere private without causing a fuss and then she’d ask him about it.

There’s a part of him that bristles about that realisation, because maybe that’s what the old Clarke would do. Or what Clarke in some other reality might have done, one where she didn’t leave them, leave him. One where the Grounders and Mount Weather and Lexa didn’t make sure they were all ruined and he and Clarke got to be together over something that wasn’t killing people. But the only Clarke that exists now is one that fucks him in a cave and leaves him again, over and over. And he goes back to her, makes himself part of it, by choice.

There’s a part of him that says he should act out against that, that he should ruin it, break it so there isn’t a choice anymore. He looks at Gina and thinks if he sleeps with her…maybe that would do it. It would make it all stop because it would be done and he couldn’t go back.

Adrenaline works through his body as he thinks about it, thinks about making a stand, about hitting back, about taking some control over his own life like he promised himself he would…and it melts away in a second, leaving him feeling sick.

He doesn’t _want_ to. He doesn’t want to act on it and he doesn’t want to be the person who does act on it. Since coming to The Ground he’s found a purpose for himself, he can be something good. He can be a friend, he can be a co-leader, he can help. He’s starting to like himself. He doesn’t want to go back.

He thinks about how Clarke would look at him, how disappointed Raven would be in him, how humiliated Gina might feel when she realised none of it was about her… That’s not who he is anymore.

Clarke still trusts him to take care of everything here, everyone here. He won’t ruin that.

She wouldn’t want him in any way if he ruined it.

 

 

He knows there’s a risk bringing it up considering how things have gone, but he wants to talk to Clarke about it.

“You should tell Raven about us.” He says randomly as he lies on his back and plays with the waves of her hair that’s draped across his chest.

Clarke stills against him. “Oh-kay?”

“She’s been trying to set me up.” He explains, still frustrated by it all and not sure if this will help or not.

“Oh,” Clarke leans on her elbow and pushes herself up to look at him. Her eyebrows are raised. “With who?”

Does it even matter who, he thinks. “Gina,” he says. “She’s a friend of Raven’s. She likes me, I guess.” He frowns and briefly looks away. It’s worse that she likes him, somehow. He’s less sure how to deal with that.

When he turns back to her, Clarke has a small smile on her face. “Raven’s just trying to make you happy. Someone liking you…tends to make most people happy.” She says as she lies back down, all sensible and understanding and infuriating.

“Are you seriously pushing me to see someone else?” he asks the back of her head.

“Bellamy,” Clarke sighs as she fully pushes herself up this time. She grabs the furs to her chest turning to face him as she sits on her knees. He’s starting to hate that sigh. Like he’s a hassle to her, like he’s being difficult, like…

“ _I_ like you.” She says, looking down at him.

Oh.

“But…” she pauses.

Now he’s the one to sigh. He’s turned away and is shaking his head before she even continues.

“Maybe it would be better for you if you were with someone in Arkadia. Someone you could be with every day.” She suggests.

He has to clench his jaw to stop himself from pointing out that she could be there if every day, that they could be together every day, if she’d just come back with him.

He turns back to her. “I want you,” he says strongly, meeting her eye. “Can I at least decide that for myself?”

Clarke looks down. “Sorry.” She says quietly.

“Clarke, I don’t want you to apologise,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just…” he exhales. “Just tell me you want me too.”

“I do.” She says softly, her eyebrows pulling together as she makes eye contact again.

“Then tell me you don’t want me to be with anyone else.”

Her frown deepens before disappearing completely, her eyebrows raising high as she looks at him. “You want me to be jealous?” she questions.

That wasn’t exactly what he was thinking but “Would that be so bad?” he asks in an exhale.

Her mouth twists into some understanding, amused smile. She shifts into a comfier position, curling her legs underneath her and leaning against his side. “Well, what’s she like?”

“I dunno. Nice, I guess,” he shrugs. Brunette, not blonde, curly instead of wavy. Chilled, not pressured. A follower instead of a leader. Simple and easy-going, not complicated and demanding. Gives these half-smirks instead of small smiles. “Not like you.”

Clarke’s eyebrows rise even higher than before. “Oh, well now I am jealous,” she laughs, looking away. “I’ll assume she’s cool too, being Raven’s friend.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” he says easily, his eyes drawn to her smile. “I’m spoken for.” He adds, trying to make it a stupid joke but it comes out more serious, softer, than he intended. He’s pretty sure he’s been hers for a long time now. He’s accepting it. He wants to be hers.

Clarke seems to sense the sincerity of it too, staring at him for a second before she looks away, wetting her lips and shifting again before meeting his eyes with a different mood. “Oh, sooo does that mean you’re mine?” she teases, somehow reading his mind as well as calming the tension. She sits up, dropping the furs away and crosses a leg over him until she’s straddling him. “And…you have to do what I tell you?” she adds with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Bellamy smiles, playing along to work with a different kind of tension. “What did you have in mind?”

Her face drops a little, her focus moving away from him as she bites down on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she says quietly as makes eye contact again. “I didn’t think that far.” She scrunches her nose up and bites down on her laugh, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Bellamy grins back at her before leaning up. “Sit up,” he says, putting his hands on her thighs to encourage her to kneel probably so she’s hovering over his lap. He puts his hand between her legs, spread perfectly with her knees still either side of him.

He feels her muscles of her leg start to relax where his other hand still grips her thigh, clearly wanting to sit back down. Her eyes drift closed and she whimpers as he slowly runs his middle and index finger up and down her slit, making sure she’s still wet enough.

Taking himself in hand, he strokes himself a few times before he rubs the head of his cock against her instead. He presses himself against her clit, enjoying the moan she gives, and down her entrance until he's fully hard. He feels her leg tense and he moves his hand back so he’s got a hold of the back of her thigh, under the curve of her ass. He lines himself up with her cunt, feeling the heat of her already. “And down,” he encourages, gripping her thigh and pulling her forward a bit. “ _Slowly_.” He adds, keeping his eyes focused between them as she lowers herself, taking his cock inside her until she’s fully seated on his lap.

He grunts, trying not to thrust up into her. When he looks back to her face he finds her staring at him intensely. So much so, it knocks him a bit. Her pupils are blown wide and he can see her breathing deeply from the rise and fall of her body, but she looks at him like she’s completely in control of herself. “I’m pretty sure this is you telling me what to do, not the other way around.” She says, nothing about her tone indicating what they’re doing.

“It’s a team effort.” He pants, staring back at her.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, rocking her hips forward. Her chest heaves slightly and her head tips back a little but she keeps her eyes on his.

He dives forward, cupping her left cheek and kissing her. That seems to make her move as she starts fucking him, lifting herself up and down a few inches as she kisses him back. Moving his hand to her neck, he slides his fingers through her hair, grabbing a handful and slowly yanking back as his other works up from her thigh, up her side.

Breaking the kiss he mouths down the left side of her neck, pulling the fistful of hair down so she exposes her throat.

“You turn me on so much.” He says against the skin of her neck, moving up to just below her ear.

“I can tell.” She exhales. He feels her tremble, small at first, before her whole body shivers as he nips at her. It distracts her, her movement becoming lazy circles of her hips instead, as if she’s fucking herself against him instead of fucking him.

He presses his tongue flat against the same spot, then licks a line up until he reaches her ear lobe. “Did you know you were so sensitive here?”

She gives a high-pitched, long moan. Almost a whine. “No.” she pants out.

He runs his left hand from her side, up her back. He lets go of her hair, switching for another handful with his left, adjusting the position. Sitting back a little he pulls down further so she arches her back and he has a perfect view of her breasts. He quickly palms her breast in his free hand, squeezing before brushing his thumb against her nipple. “What about here?”

“Yes.” She hisses.

Letting go of her hair he slides both his hands down to her waist, encouraging her to bounce on his dick because he can’t wait anymore. She quickly takes the hint, sitting back up and putting one hand on his shoulder for balance while her left works down between her legs.

Bellamy doesn’t know where the hell to look. He falls back onto his elbows before fully lying down so he can see everything, his hands gripping her thighs where he can reach as she repositions her right hand on the side of his stomach.

She slows down, lifting herself up and down slowly and her hand falls away from her own body, going lower until she grips the base of his cock even as he’s sliding in and out of her. He jerks in response, her fingers curling around him. A smile spreads over her face and she opens her eyes and stares down at him.

“Clarke.” He utters breathlessly.

Her smile softens as she almost stops completely, seated on his lap. “I like you.”

He breathes deeply as he looks up at her. “That’s good.” He chokes out, wetting his lips. He can’t look at anything but her eyes, even with so much on display to him.

“And I like this.” She adds, not breaking contact.

“That’s good too.” He swallows.

He wants to sit back up, he wants to kiss her, he wants to touch her, he wants… but she tightens her grip on his dick, making his eyes roll back as he pushes his head into the furs behind him.

“Clarke.” He pants.

“Bellamy,” she whispers. “Bellamy.” she says it in a moan this time as she lets go of him and starts moving again. He opens his eyes to see her head tipped back, her eyes closed and her biting her lip. Not like she usually does, not the corner inside her mouth and you can only tell if you know her enough, pay attention to what she does and how she does it, like he does. This time her teeth sink into the flesh of her middle of her bottom lip.

His eyes trail down to where she’s touching herself again, her fingers rubbing at her clit.

The way she rocks against him becomes faster, deeper, until she’s fucking herself up and down and Bellamy fucks up into her each time she lowers herself. His fingers dig into her thighs, trying to keep himself in position, trying to keep himself from touching her more, from flipping them.

Her breasts are bouncing with her movement, her fingers working herself furiously and Bellamy feels his toes curl as he tries not to come before she does. She looks, feels, fucking amazing.

She slams herself down on his dick with determination for her own orgasm. He feels her cunt tightening around him, a tensing of her body that runs through her thighs on either side of him, under his fingers, and he pushes up deeper into her as she starts to waver, overtaken by her pleasure as she nears. She jerks a little as she comes, her arched back straightening, her head lilting to the side as she gives this soft, long moan, her teeth finally releasing her bottom lip.

The final flutter he feels around him has him coming a second after her.

  
 

She has another nightmare that night, jolting awake like the first time. Bellamy’s asleep this time and doesn’t react as fast. She’s already sitting up next to him so all he can see is her back, all he can hear is her deep breathing, by the time he really realises what’s happening.

He puts his hand on her bare back as he sits up next to her. “You’re okay.”

Clarke’s head is in her hands as she hides her face. She shakes her head. “They’re not,” She says with tears in her voice as she pulls her hands away, wiping both of her eyes. “Everyone I killed.”

“We killed.” Bellamy corrects.

Her shoulders slump, her hands dropping to her lap. He climbs his hand further up her back, sweeping her hair away.

“We had to,” he swallows. “I wish it hadn’t been that way, but it was and we had to.” He says as calmly as he can.

The cave around them is quiet. She stares ahead and Bellamy keeps his hand on her, waiting, trying to show he’s there.

“How’s Jasper?” she asks, surprising him.

“A mess,” he says honestly, not wanting to lie to her. “He shaved his head, he’s drinking more than ever, he and Monty fight all the time and he makes constant little digs that we all allow because…” he trails off.

“Because he loved someone and she died in his arms, because she helped us,” Clarke finishes numbly. “You all allow it because she died of severe radiation poisoning. Her skin slowly blistered, boiled. She probably choked to death on blood when her blood vessels, her organs burst and cooked.”

His fingers still on her back as he remembers, feeling sick. He remembers them all slumped in the mess hall. He remembers Maya helping him, her screams when she found her father.

Clarke lets out a scoff, breaking his thoughts. “I should have killed her the first time I held glass to her throat. That would have been kinder and Jasper wouldn’t have had time to fall in love with her and start imagining a life with her.” She shakes her head. “Or she could have stayed in her suit and ran out of oxygen, suffocating to death. That would have been less painful too.”

He hears Jasper in his head talking about the many ways they’ve killed. It’s not like they’ve ever known another way. It’s not like being floated is easy. Decompressing to death. Freezing, or suffocating or blood boiling, whichever happens first, whichever the atmosphere decides that day. It’s just that they never saw it on The Ark. There wasn’t a body left to see, only the grief of the people who loved them, left behind. Swallowing, he tilts his head to try to catch her eyes. “Clarke, you’re not alone.”

“But I should be!” she turns sharply to face him, his hand falling from her back as she moves. “Jasper is. And that’s my fault.”

He meets her teary stare, not sure what she wants. For him to condemn her? How can he? “Do you think I should be alone too?” he asks her, sure she doesn’t believe that.

She shakes her head and turns away dismissively. “It’s not the same.”

“I pulled that lever with you.” And he doesn’t regret it. They had to. She had to so he had to with her.

“I fought for the alliance, Bellamy. You didn’t even want it,” she says like she has to explain things to him. Maybe she does. “It was my call and I made it. That was me,” she’s quiet next to him, her laboured breathing the only thing showing her distress. “That was me,” she repeats, her tone flat now. “You… You went inside and risked your life,” she scoffs again, raising her chin so she’s facing the roof. “God, and I sent you!”

Bellamy frowns. “It was my idea to go.” He refutes, not prepared to let her take that on as well.

“That I agreed to because I wanted to prove to myself I could stop caring!” she cries, fully turning her body to face him now. “Do you want to guess how long that lasted?”

That’s what she was trying to do back then? Not care? She’s Clarke, she can’t not care about all of them, can’t not take on burdens for all of them. That’s why she’s here instead of Arkadia, because she can’t forget, can’t go on like nothing happened, can’t stop caring about the hows and the whys.

Her eyes track down to his lips before she leans forward and kisses him. Bellamy would say he knows Clarke desperate, knows her horny and wanting. Knows when she’s needy. This doesn’t feel like any of that. The way she almost bruises her lips against his, quickly shoves her tongue in his mouth and tries to coax his tongue with hers. She’s tense and fidgety, constantly switching her grip or placement of her hands, patting and gripping in a way she hasn’t before. She doesn’t let him kiss her, doesn’t let him connect his lips with hers for more than a second. He also knows Clarke determined, sacrificing, unrelenting. He feels those things in what she’s doing now more than the Clarke he’s come to know in bed. He pulls away, taking both of her hands off him and holds them in his as he looks at her. “Clarke, you don’t have to do that.” He tries.

She glares fiercely at him and Bellamy is sure he’s about to fuck this up. “What if I want to?” she huffs at him, indignant.

He looks at her, trying to show how much he cares. He’s worried whatever he says is going to be the wrong thing. “Do you?” he asks simply, as softly as he can.

She turns vulnerable in a second, tightening her lips into a straight line as her eyes fill with tears. “Bellamy, please.” She says shakily.

If he was more secure in their…whatever they are, he’d maybe react differently. If they were together more, if he could reach her whenever he wanted, he’d maybe let them have the comfort. But they’re not and he can’t. He won’t be there, won’t be able to fix whatever he’s sure it will cost them. “That’s not what this is,” he whispers, feeling his own tears.

Her lip trembles, her eyes closing before she turns her head away.

He watches her, letting her be whatever she needs to be. Swallowing, she faces him again, her focus trailing down to his lips again. She meets his eyes this time before looking back down and she leans in much slower, brushing her lips against his. It’s tender, and their lips barely move, connecting together instead.

Breaking the kiss she drops her forehead against his for a second before sitting back and looking at him.

He brings her hands still clutched in his to his mouth and presses a kiss to each at the fleshy indent at the base of her thumbs, before transferring both to his one hand and reaching up to wipe at the tear that’s settled just under her eye with his other.

He inhales deeply through his nose and out again as he looks at her, stroking some hair away from her face. “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“A walk?” she asks with a disbelieving, watery laugh.

He shrugs. “Have you been for one since we landed? One that…was for no real reason?”

She frowns thoughtfully, looking down and away briefly before meeting his eyes again. “No.”

“Technically for the first time since we landed…we’re not at war,” He gives a small smile. It’s cost them, a lot, but they have reached a point of safety, of peace, where they can start thinking about building lives, where they are building lives. “Maybe we should enjoy that.”

“Maya never got to enjoy it. None of them did.” She says staring at him.

He’s quiet for a moment, recognising the truth in what she says. “Even more reason why we don’t waste it.” He reasons. Part of him just wants her out of this cave, to remind her of outside of here, to remind himself that she exists outside of here, and that he does too.

 

It kind of reminds him of that first night she came back, being out in the woods with her, though it feels so different. There’s no urgency, he’s the one that brought her out here this time and they aren’t even touching, just walking together.

The moon is still in the sky, though he can feel it’s going to start getting light soon. The last thing Bellamy is is a Grounder, but there are some things that he’s picked up on, that he knows, that do make him feel like he belongs here. He has trouble reconciling it with all the loss, with how painful it can be, but The Ground has brought him everything. Chances he never would have had otherwise. Octavia can be free here. She can live here and she can love here. And he can have people in his life who know that huge part of him that it is being a brother. Friends. He can be a Guard, something that was taken away on The Ark before. Maybe he can even be more. A leader, someone people rely on, have expectations of that he can live up to. And he met Clarke.

None of that would have happened in space.

He can live here. Maybe he can love here too. He feels like he already is, even if it isn’t exactly how he’d want it to be, even if it’s a little more complicated.

“I used to dream about the ground,” Clarke says, pulling him from his thoughts. She’s staring down at some plants in the clearing they’ve wandered into. He doesn’t think he knows it. “The air, the green, floating in the water,” she closes her eyes, raises her head and takes a deep, slow breath. “I didn’t imagine most of the things that came with it,” Opening her eyes, she’s still before continuing. “The good or the bad.”

Bellamy watches her. “There’s good?” he asks, wondering how close her thoughts are to his.

She smiles, he can see it even in the moonlight. “There’s good,” she repeats before turning to him. “There’s you.”

Does she have any idea what saying that kind of stuff does to him? “I don’t want anybody else,” he finds himself saying. “And I…” he keeps his eyes focused on hers. “Clarke, I need you to hear that.”

“Bellamy,”

“Don’t.” he cuts her off. “I don’t want anybody else.” He repeats clearly, pinpointing each word as he takes a few slow but sure strides towards her.

“I can’t…” she whispers, looking up at him, apology obvious in her voice.

He doesn’t want to hear it. “You can.” He insists. And he’s sure it’s true. He doesn’t believe Clarke could truly give up. She’s still meeting him, he can still see her, the Clarke he’s known, in so much of these nights. And whether she’s a tightly-wound princess of the people or a broken, self-banished exile, she’s still Clarke, and he still wants only her.

He wants to be her ally, he wants to be in this with her. He can’t give up on her or give her up and he doesn’t want to. She never gave up on him.

Closing the distance between them, Bellamy hugs her. Clarke’s arms curl around his waist and up his back as she rests her head against his shoulder and the crook of his neck, her breathing uneven. He holds her tighter, sliding his hand up through her hair, clutching the back of her head. He’s aware it’s the first time he’s embraced her first, and the first time they’ve actually hugged since they started this whole thing. He’s laid down with her so many times now, had her body on top of and under his, but they haven’t hugged like this since she left.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the fact that it’s not goodbye, or hello, thank god you’re alive. There’s no rush to it and he makes a point of that. Clarke seems to too, both of them staying there as the sun rises. He keeps his eyes closed, partly to prove to himself – and her – that there is some kind of possible life, that they can stay here and not worry about being hit by an arrow or a spear, and lets himself feel only her. Partly to prove to himself – and her – that this world they’ve landed in will allow two people who… _like_ each other, to be something else together.

She was right, someone liking you…can make you happy. He can feel it, some joy, some hope, comfort, going through him. Maybe even some kind of validation – belonging. But it has to be her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for kudos, and especially to those commenting. There isn't anything else that works for motivation the same was as someone actually commenting on your work. So please know comments are always appreciated and even if you feel like you don't know what to say, if all you say is you liked the Chapter, or I don't reply, your comment has made my day and has made me sit my ass down and write more words.
> 
> And I'm there on tumblr if you'd rather communicate with me there - that's why I have it.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait on this one. I had a busy week that took me away from things. I'll try to get another Chapter done this weekend.

The 5th week Bellamy brings her a tub of tomatoes from the new crop. He wants to share as much of the place as he can with her, especially after last time. He wants to keep her involved even though she’s not physically there. He wants to show how well they’re doing, share how proud he is of their people for building something that’s working so well.

When he gets to their cave he gets a shock, thinking someone else is there. Red, not blonde is what greets him and he stares when she turns around and it’s Clarke’s face looking back at him.

“Hey.” She smiles at him, all warm and soft eyes but all Bellamy can do is stare at her. Her smile turns to a frown, confused about his reaction.

“Your hair.” He manages to get out.

“Oh,” she blinks at him, reaching up to touch the dyed locks. It’s straight and thicker too, like she’s trying to encourage it to naturally dread. “There aren’t many blonde Grounders.” She explains, her eyes flicking away from him.

He didn’t mean to embarrass her. It’s just…he sort of loves that blonde, that wavy curl.

“You’re hiding from everyone then, huh?” he remarks with some resentment that he wishes he could take back. He shouldn’t feel that, him of all people. He’s the one person she’s allowing in, he gets to see her and red or blonde, he lives for their weekly dates, if you can call them that. He doesn’t want to risk them, and not for having a go at her.

She’s quiet as she looks at him again, briefly, before turning away fully. “They’ve given me a name,” she says, bending down to stoke the fire she’s made.

“A name?” he asks, walking towards her. There’s something in her tone that worries him, something more stand-offish and distant than last time.

“Wanheda.” She cites in a rush, forced casualness in her breezy pitch that strengths that bad feeling he feels.

“Do you know what it means?” he tries to keep his voice calm, trying to hold back the way he wants to panic, the way he’s sure he’s about to rage. He recognises the ‘Heda’ part of it, having heard people using it to address Lexa, Commander.

Clarke’s shoulders slump. “Commander of Death,” She turns to him when he doesn’t say anything. “Because of Mount Weather.” She adds.

He does want to rage, at anyone who puts that look on her face, the sadness and the guilt that’s so plain.

“We _saved_ people.” He bites back, refusing to let it be anything other than ‘we’ and refusing not to challenge the stupid title. This is the last thing she needs, he needs, when he’s still hoping she’ll come back with him one day, when it was starting to feel like a possibility again. Fucking Grounders and their stupid need to make everything a thing, to attribute power and violence to everything. The Grounders are the ones that caused the deaths that day and Lexa is the one who commanded her people to leave them to their deaths, not Clarke.

She gives a small smile, one that he doesn’t buy, before she moves to the rockery ledge along the other side of the cave and sits down. “Anyway,” she clears her throat. “I’m becoming something of a myth or a legend something, I don’t know. So I just… This seemed better.” She says quietly, sadly, as she looks down at the ground, her feet dangling, her hands flat either side of her.

All the anger drains out of him.

Crossing the cave, he sits down beside her, dropping his pack on the rockery ledge next to them. He leans forward, enjoying the way she turns into him as he cups her cheek. The kiss that follows is quiet, soft, and lingering. He rests his forehead against hers before pulling back. Bellamy reaches up and tucks some of the red hair behind her ear. “I could get used to it.” He says, his mouth curling into a smirk. He can hear the love he has for her in his voice.

“Oh yeah?” she asks with knitted eyebrows, more indulging of his teasing than anything.

He shrugs. “Never kissed a redhead before.” He half-jokes.

She looks down to his lips, leaning forward and kissing him again. Pulling back she meets his eyes. “You still haven’t.” she whispers with a twist of her lips, narrowing her eyes.

He chuckles. Clarke isn’t exactly the most humouress person, which makes him appreciate it even more when she jokes, when she surprises him. “I brought you something.”

“What?” she frowns at him like she can’t possibly imagine what on earth she could bring him.

He grabs the tub from the top of his bag, popping the lid off and holding it in front of her. Bellamy smiles as he watches her face drop in shock as she stares, her eyes widening as she looks to him.

“We’ve been growing a heap of new things,” he explains with a shrug. “Seeds from Mount Weather,” he adds. Well, plants from Mount Weather in this case. They’d tried to replant some, hoping they would take. They did. “Try them.”

She eyes the red fruit before reaching for one.

His smile grows even more as he continues to watch her reaction.

“Oh wow,” she explains, stilling after only taking one bite of the small tomato in her mouth. “That’s…” she chews some more, licking her lips. “Mm,” she moans and Bellamy half-wonders if he should be worried about being attracted to someone eating. “There’s so much flavour!” she looks at him with wide eyes. “They’re so different to the ones on The Ark.”

Clearing his throat, he shifts next to her. “Yeah, I think it’s the dirt,” he jokes. “And they were not tomatoes.” He adds, remembering the kind they sometimes had on The Ark.

“Mm,” she swallows. “Are they making sauces? They should be making sauces.” She nods at him, her eyebrows drawn together seriously like they’re talking tactics.

Bellamy gives a silent laugh. He’s never seen Clarke hyper before, in any manner. “They’re making everything,” he says. “Jasper has been making this drink, uh, Bloody Mary’s…with Monty’s moonshine. It’s disgusting.” He grimaces.

“Is he still…” she trails off, licking her lips as she finishes the tomato.

“Yeah,” he nods with a sad frown as he looks ahead of them. “I didn’t know he could be such an ass,” he adds with some affection before turning back to her. “It’s him and Monty fighting that worries me the most. I don’t know how to help.”

She gives him an understanding, sympathetic smile. “They’ve been best friends their whole lives. They’re the ones who will fix it,” her focus drifts away from him. “And Monty being involved with what happened…it’s easier to be angrier at that, at him.”

He looks at her. “Speaking from experience?” he asks softly. He never really knew how Clarke and Wells sorted things, how much they did sort things before…everything happened.

She meets his eye but is quiet. “How is my mom?” she asks instead.

He leans back a bit against the wall behind them, straightening. “Honestly, Clarke, I’ve made it a point to avoid your mother as much as I can.”

“Why?” she frowns deeply at him.

Sort of side-eying her, he tries to explain. “Because I’m sleeping with you? Behind her back?” Clarke’s frown disappears and she lets out a laugh. “Oh, I’m glad you’re amused by it.” He smiles at her.

“Sorry, it’s just…” she shrugs, giving him a small smile. “It’s kind of…normal. Sort of nice, actually.” Her eyebrows draw together thoughtfully.

“Not for me,” he says, but he can’t help smiling back at her. It’s not like it’s something he has any kind of experience with. He remembers first meeting Abby back at the dropship. Clarke’s mother. That’s who she was to him. Not a council member, not a doctor, but Clarke’s mother. And she showed it, with the ease she took charge, with her confidence, her competency. And as he watched her leave a message for Clarke on the dropship panelling, took note of the way she looked at him like he was just a troublemaker, he realised he’d let her down before even meeting her. Clarke wasn’t there, she’d been taken, and Bellamy hadn’t stopped it. He hadn’t been able to protect her, to protect any of them. Clarke had saved them and then they’d all been taken and he didn’t even know by whom. He couldn’t even tell the ones who had landed what had happened. He had no right to say, to try to make a case for himself, that Clarke had trusted him when he’d let her, all of them, be taken. Abby wouldn’t have thought he was good enough to be anywhere near Clarke then.

Now she’s Abby and The Chancellor and the best doctor and Clarke’s mother all to him and he respects her for each role. And she seems to respect him, and values him for something good he can bring the society they’re making. But there isn’t really a relationship and with how things are now, he’s grateful for it. He doesn’t have to lie to her face, doesn’t have to feel bad about the fact that he’s seeing Clarke. And she isn’t noticing a difference in him or wondering why she doesn’t see him much lately. His relationship with Clarke was formed before Abby was here, it didn’t involve her and for how much he respects her, there isn’t a part of him that feels like his loyalty is split. He’d say the only relationship he has with Abby is an understanding that both of them care about Clarke, would do anything for her and that’s all they need to know. That’s all that matters.

“Best I can tell,” he adds in a gentler tone. “She’s running herself to distraction with med bay and Chancellor duties and barely sleeping.” He’s seen the other similarities Clarke and her mother share on the other side of things. The tenacity that can resemble spite, the expectations, the instinct to close off, not taking care of themselves because they’re putting everyone and everything else first.

Clarke stares at him. “That’s a lot for you to notice about someone you’re avoiding.”

He keeps the eye contact. “It’s a recognisable trait,” he says, chancing it. The corner of her mouth tugs up, making him risk more. “She misses you and wants you to come home, like everyone.” He says, tilting his head. It’s the closest he’s said about wanting her to come back since the first time they were in this cave.

“You can’t tell her you’ve seen me, Bellamy.” She shakes her head at him, the beginnings of panic showing. Whether she’s deliberately ignoring the point or doesn’t really see it, he isn’t sure.

“Clarke, come on, of course not.” He reassures her. Like he would do that to her. He can’t comprehend betraying her, misusing her trust in him.

She leans back, takes a deep breath and exhales and he thinks there’s relief there.

“How’s everyone else?” she asks.

He thinks about what to tell her about, reminding himself of what he’d hoped to bring. To show her that there’s good, that what they did was worth it, that it goes beyond that mess hall of bodies, beyond the guilt. “Monty makes a pretty good Guard.” He muses.

“Yeah?” she turns to him with a surprised smile. “He didn’t go back to engineering?”

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I don’t think he’s totally given it up – he and Raven work on things together sometimes. But…” he stops, debating how much to say. He doesn’t want to talk about Mount Weather over and over, but he knows it won’t change in her mind if they don’t talk about it. If they can talk about it all, not just those moments, but everything that happened and where it’s leading…surely that’s better. “A lot of those who were in Mount Weather…they’ve joined the Guard.” He says, keeping his voice steady, not wanting to give the impression it’s something never to talk about, something she can’t handle hearing about. Especially if the Grounders want to talk about it, define who she is by it, give her some name after it – he doesn’t want that to be the ruling opinion that leads her thoughts and feelings on how she views what they did. Wanheda means nothing to those who she saved, who they did it all for. “Monty, Miller, Harper. Even Jasper.” He continues. “I don’t know if it’s…” he frowns, rubbing his hands together that hang between his legs, still leaning on his thighs. “I think part of it is that they bonded in there, with…everything they went through,” he says as he tilts his head and looks at her. “And I guess the other part of it is… Well, it was us. At the start…it was on us. I don’t know if we can really step away from being part of the fight.” Not having some of power, not being involved in what’s going on terrifies Bellamy. He can’t imagine sitting back now, not after everything.

Clarke doesn’t turn away from him. “Yeah, I understand.” She says quietly.

“And Monty…” he says in a perkier tone, taking a breath. “He brings a lot, you know?”

Clarke’s lips curl into a small smile, understanding. He wonders how much she thinks about them all, how much she misses them. If she misses them. He believes she does.

“What about Lincoln? He has a kill order on him?” she asks after a moment. Bellamy looks at her, wondering how she knows that, how she knows she’s called Wanheda, if she’s in contact with other people, who they are. Clarke meets his eyes. “Are you getting along with him okay?”

He knows she’s not going to tell him, and it’s obvious she knows he wants to know. He swallows back his questions, trying to accept her boundaries. She’s still here, she’s still talking to him, that’s what matters.

“I think I’m getting along with him better than Octavia is right now,” he says, only half-joking. Clarke frowns at him. “He seems to be dealing with being confided to the one space better than she is. Ironic, really.” He explains.

“I think I can picture it.” Clarke says, something of an affectionate, amused smile on her face.

“Your mom trusts him,” he tells her. “She’s included him in the council. Well, the council that exists down here.” He adds with a quirk of his eyebrow. He never thought he’d be part of the council in any way. Never thought his input would matter.

“She should. He’s earned it.” Clarke says with a deep, fierce frown.

“Yeah, it looks like she and Kane are going to assign him to help teach recruits how to fight.”

“Good, that’s smart.” She nods thoughtfully, facing in front of them.

Bellamy watches her. She wants to know how they all are…she’s taking more than an interest. That has to be good.

“We’ve been sparring. He wins every time,” he says dryly. “What?” he asks when he sees Clarke get this look in her eye, one he recognises. Planning. But then she turns away from him quickly, looking guilty, but not guilt he sees on her face a lot recently. She looks sheepish about it.

She looks at him wide-eyed. “What?” she repeats back, like she’s clueless.

“ _Clarke_.”

Her eyebrows furrow, like she’s annoyed at herself. “I was just thinking…if you needed an advantage,” her frown deepens as she finally meets his eye. “His front, left shoulder is probably weak,” she clears her throat as she looks away again.

He can’t help the smile he feels. That’s Clarke. The assessment, the idea, and the follow up questioning. Logic first, then feeling. She showed it when she made that shot through Lincoln’s shoulder. It’s why they’ve won. It’s why they’re still alive.

He turns his body towards hers and leans fully into her space. Taking her jaw in hand, he kisses her.

Pulling back she’s practically scowling at him. “You’re kissing me because I’m thinking how to hurt our friends?”

He presses a lighter kiss against her lips before pulling back again, waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him, trying not to focus too much on her use of 'our'. “I’m kissing you because you’re brilliant,” he says, his eyes tracing over her face, watching her expression soften. “And it’s strategy and you only thought it,” he reassures. “I’ll let you know if I actually put it to use.”

“Don’t,” she orders. “It’s mean and…” she shakes her head. “Lincoln’s not the enemy.”

“Okay, princess.” He says softly. He’s missed her telling him what to do. He’s missed her thinking she can tell him what to do.

She scowls even more at him and he really can’t stop the smirk. She can scowl at him all she likes, it’s annoyance and feistiness and involvement and it’s nothing like the despondent, miserable, distant look she had when saying “Wanheda”.

“Bellamy?” she says sounding dazed.

“Yeah?” he brushes his thumb along her cheekbone.

“Don’t make him be something else.” She says seriously, causing him to still.

He frowns. “What’d you mean?”

“You said he’ll be leading recruits… So…uniform?” she reaches out and tugs at his Guard jacket.

“Yeah.”

She swallows, her eyes still set on his jacket. “Even in Ark uniform…Lincoln was born on the ground,” she looks up, finding his eyes again. “Don’t make him have to forget that to fit in,” she stares at him and Bellamy feels himself break a little. He wishes he was with her every day. He wishes she wasn’t having nightmares, or questioning who she is. He wishes…but it doesn’t matter. He forces himself not to stare at her hair. Her red, straight hair, so people don’t know who she is, so she fits in, to hide who she is. Tenderly, he sweeps some of it away from her face instead before he cups her cheek and meets her lips with his own again.

He sighs into her mouth, tipping his forehead against hers briefly as they pull back.

“Because I’m brilliant?” she says flatly with this tiny smile, raised eyebrows, indulgently. She’s still holding onto his jacket.

He strokes her cheek. “Something like that.” He whispers back at her, feeling the emotion closing his throat.

Inhaling slowly, he sits back again, picking up the tub and holding it out for her.

“I still can’t believe you have these.” She says as she picks out a tomato and stares at it before taking a bite.

“We’re trying to build lives,” he gives a smile as he watches her, before shrugging. “Kane thinks it will help with trade. I think he’s right.” As much anger he still carries, especially when he knows it’s why Clarke isn’t with them every day, trying to build with them, and as much as he still has a hard time trusting that they can do that now, he does want to do what Kane seems to. He understands as communities they have to ultimately share the Earth and he isn’t against it. He doesn’t want to fight anymore either. And the more they build, they more they establish themselves with things like trade, hopefully the more equal things will be between them and The Grounders. That has to be the way for actual peace. They have to find their place here, make it theirs too.

“Hm, build lives,” Clarke repeats with a soft smile, drawing him from his thoughts. He looks at her. “Living, instead of just surviving.” She further explains.

He nods. “That’s the plan.”

“It’s a good plan, Bellamy.” She says quietly, with feeling, her eyebrows raised as she meets his eyes.

Staring back at her, he realises how much he misses her praise, her encouragement, her support. Misses her backing him, pushing him, even challenging him. He’s trying to do what he thinks is right, what he thinks she’d back, in her absence, but he really wishes she was there every day to help him. No one’s ever really believed in him like Clarke has, and he’s never really cared about anyone’s approval the way he does Clarke’s, because she believes in him.

She reaches for the tub resting on his lap and takes two tomatoes this time, in the one hand. Rolling one into her palm, she settles her fingers over it and holds the other between her thumb and index finger, offering it to him. Bellamy stares at the red fruit before looking to her eyes, her face. The edges of her mouth curl upwards as she keeps her hand out to him, waiting for him. Swallowing, he takes it, watching her smile grow as he does. Blonde princess or redhead Wanheda, she’s still Clarke.

 

He finds himself saying her name over and over as she rides him that night.

_“Clarke,” “Clarke,” “Clarke.”_

As if to remind her who she is. Clarke. Not Wanheda, not The Commander of Death. If she is those things, he’s them with her, and she’s Clarke first.

He whispers it, breathes it, grunts it, as she moves against him and clings to him. Her legs are wrapped around him as she sits on his lap and he sits up with her. Without the leverage of her knees, he controls their movement and she lets him. His arms are wrapped around her, pressed against the middle of her back to keep her close. He kisses her jawline and mouths around her collarbone and the slope of her chest where he can reach.

_“Clarke,” “Clarke,” “Clarke.”_

She is not a Grounder. No matter her hair, or what she wears, she is not a Grounder. She is not theirs. She’s not theirs to name, she is not theirs to celebrate, to talk about. She is not theirs to turn into a legend.

She’s from space. She’s his, she’s her own. She’s the people of Arkadia’s, her people. A princess of Arkadia, a leader of Arkadia, a healer of Arkadia. She saved them, sacrificed for them. Her people.

She is not Lexa’s to betray and abandon.

She is Bellamy’s to follow, to partner with, to love.

_“Clarke,” “Clarke,” “Clarke.”_

She comes twice. He isn’t sure what does it so much for her in this position, but Bellamy isn’t complaining – he feels it too.

He’s out of breath after he comes, more than he thinks the slower pace deems. But he breathes heavily into her neck as Clarke slumps against him, looping her arms around his neck.

_“Clarke.”_

He grips her tighter against him so there’s nothing between them. She hums at him, the shift pulling her onto his cock even as he softens inside her.

He thinks she must be uncomfortable, his cock, his come inside her, but she doesn’t move so he doesn’t either. He nuzzles against her, bringing a hand up into her hair. He’s sure her hair still smells the same as it did the first time he was this close to her, even if it looks and feels different. She still feels the same.

They don’t know her. They don’t know past the unrelenting, the strength, the uncompromising. They don’t know anything other than the will they have turned into a legend. They don’t know her afraid. They don’t know how sweet she can be. They don’t know her nightmares, or how she shares. They don't know her doubts or her pain. They don't know what that will costs.

He knows her. Bellamy knows her. He knows her body, her mind, her nature.

_“Clarke.”_

She’s not theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And especially for comments. I really appreciate them and the ones recently really motivated me to get this done when my mind was elsewhere, so thank you :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me longer than I wanted but it ended up being longer than I figured and it's not so much the time to write it, but finding the time to do a read-through and post it. So enjoy 11 000 words! I thought about splitting it but I want to keep each week to one Chapter. Don't expect another Chapter this length. (I mean, I say that, but really who the fuck knows. Clearly I have no self control on this.)
> 
> I hope you do all enjoy it though. Fair warning, there's a lot of sex and not as much dialogue. I'm sorry if that's not your preference (it isn't mine. And actually, let me know if you can tell. If there's a quality drop or something.) but I hope it's obvious by now that I'm not really a smut for the sake of it kind of writer. It's just not really my thing.

He sees her blonde again sooner than he thought would, and not how he expected to.

 

She’s late and as he looks around the cave, he tells himself he’s more worried about Clarke being out in the storm than not turning up. It’s been raining all day but it’s gotten worse the last few hours. He can hear it as he lights all the torches, and the candles that have been added. He realises how much stuff they’ve not only added, but how much stuff Clarke is choosing to leave here. He didn’t know. She always arrives before him and leaves afterwards. There’s a pile of it, wrapped carefully to keep it clean and dry. He’s sure most of their bedding is in one of those packages. With the melted candles and the burned-out firepit, it’s obvious people are here frequently. It’s obvious this is some kind…home, for someone. Bellamy isn’t sure how he feels about that.

It’s well after dark now and he’s unwrapping and trying to arrange some furs, trying to distract himself from hopelessly going out in the rain to look for her. After some debate with himself, he started the fire. Part of him told him not to, that somehow doing that instead of Clarke doing it like always, will mess things up. But it’s cold and if Clarke is leaving so much stuff here for them, like she’s investing in them, the least he can do set everything up for them. It still takes him three tries, snapping the first stick he uses and losing the second from the ties, the ember he sparks quickly going out. Clarke is so much better at this than him. Octavia is so much better at this than him. All he remembers is putting out the permanent one at the dropship as they got ready to give up and leave the first home on the ground they’d created, failing, but it was everybody else who stoked the thing.

When Clarke turns up she barely even looks at him. She hurries in, some kind of thin cloak over her head and dumps her pack down with some force before pulling the cloak off her head and shrugging off her furs, letting them hit the floor too. She grabs the hem of her top and he stands there as she pulls both layers up and over her head until she’s in her bra. And then she turns around, stepping over the pile of wet clothes she’s left and starts to walk back outside.

“Clarke?” he quietly asks with confusion.

“Hang on!” she calls back to him but doesn’t slow at all as she marches outside.

What the hell?

He’s even more confused when he follows her and finds her at the entrance of the cave bent over with her hair dangling down, combing her hands through it as the rain falls on her.

Bellamy stands under the front covering of the cave just staring for a second, trying to comprehend it all as she continues what she’s doing. He finally fully sees her face, upside down, when she tips her head, pulling all her hair over one shoulder and rings it out.

He finally moves, stepping into the rain, when he hears her mutter out some curse of frustration.

“What are you doing?” he says loudly through the rain as he approaches her.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” she yells back at him. “Ow, fuck!” she screws her eyes closed and then wipes at one with the palm and heel of her hand.

From this close, he can see the colouring that’s obviously run, leaving traces and marks on her face.

“Hey, here,” He steps closer, putting a hand on her back and his other on her arm, encouraging her to straighten. She does, standing up, still rubbing at her eye. “Put your head back. Keep your eyes closed.” He says as he turns her so she’s facing him.

Clarke lifts her head fully, the rain pouring down on her face, her eyebrows knitted together as she keeps her eyes closed.

Gathering her hair he sits it to the one side on her shoulder so she isn’t getting colouring all down her back as well, before he starts rubbing at the marks it’s left. Carefully he brushes around her eyes, using the heavy rain to wash it away, continuing down where it’s pooled down her jawline.

When he’s sure it’s all gone from her face, he slicks back her hair, over and over until he starts to see blonde again, lifting the ends and rinsing it out away from her body.

It isn’t until almost all the red is gone and he’s brushing away the loose, wet strands of hair that are stuck to her neck and her collarbone that he notices the goosebumps on her skin. Then he can’t stop noticing them, or the way they feel when he strokes his fingers over her.

He’s soaked through, his shirt plastered to his body and his own hair flattened to his face. He feels Clarke move, but he can’t stop staring at the skin by her collarbone, can’t stop slowly tracing over it and watching the raindrops run down her neck, pooling before continuing down her body.

“Thanks.” He thinks he hears but the rain is still thundering, silencing everything else.

He makes himself look at her, finding her staring back at him, her eyes dark and he realises the raindrops are everywhere. Sticking to her eyelashes, framing her eyes and catching on her lips. It’s been a week since he saw her. A fucking week. And he swears the concept of a week has gotten so much longer lately.

He cups her cheek, quickly moving back under her ear and through her hair so he’s gripping the back of her head and he’s pulling her towards him, kissing her passionately. Their teeth clack as she meets his effort, grabbing the collar of his sodden t-shirt and using the leverage to push herself on her tiptoes, closer to him.

His left hand is palming and squeezing her breast before he’s really aware he’s doing it, feeling her nipple already hard. Clarke shoves herself against him, nipping at his mouth and Bellamy lets his hand drop from her face and yanks down the cups of her bra, tweaking both her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.

He doesn’t hear the moan she gives over the weather but he _feels_ it. He feels it vibrate against his lips.

Clarke’s hand drifts from his collar and down to his torso where she places her hand flat against him. He feels the heat of her through the wet shirt, against his skin and he feels his body ripple under her touch, expanding with his breathing as if to reach her again. He feels it all but there’s like a buzzing in his head where he can’t think anything clearly. It’s Clarke and he feels her and his body knows her. It reminds him of that first night but it’s so different too. The same urgency, the same need, but none of it mindless because he knows her now, knows this.

Her hand lowers until she’s got his cock in her hand, the heat of her hot compared to the rain and he doesn’t remember letting go of her but she’s on her knees and taking him in her mouth and he stares down at blonde.

The heat of her mouth is burning in the best possible way and he moans as she keeps going, using her hand to stroke the rest of him.

Each time she takes as much of him as she can, her tongue sliding up the underside of his cock, Bellamy’s eyes almost roll back, but he forces himself to keep them open because each time she pulls back again, he gets a view of her breasts, her bra still pulled down and lifting them.

Blonde.

Clarke.

He feels her moan again, this time through his cock and fuck it has him rocking into her.

He doesn’t know if he wants to come on her face, on her breasts, on her hair – a thought he’s sure he’s never had before, about anyone, when he fucks into her mouth too much, hitting the back of her throat and making her gag around him. He feels her close in and convulse around him and Bellamy is only able to pull back a little and let out trembled cry of her name as warning before he comes in her mouth, hoping she knows him enough by now to not be too caught off guard.

The spots behind his eyelids die down enough for him to realise she hasn’t stopped, only adjusting and slowing her pace as she drags her mouth back enough to swallow. Though her hand still grips him. Then it’s cold again as she takes him completely from her mouth and he looks down and watches as she licks him in a long swipe from the base, up until she swirls her tongue flat along the head, the ridge of him, opens her mouth and _sucks_ and he can’t. Grabbing her shoulders he hauls her up, practically mauls her lips with his own and shoves his tongue in her mouth until he tastes himself, rain and Clarke.

She squeezes both hands between them, taking him back in her hand and starts leisurely stroking him.

Bellamy ends up messing up her hair as he fucks her into the mud by the cave entrance.

 

The rain lasts until half-way through the night and, at the first stages of light they go to the falls to get clean. They don’t go in the water because it’s freezing. Instead they go behind the waterfall itself and use the spray.

Clarke has this box of cosmetics that he quickly finds out is all made of raw ingredients. Stuff they could never put together. It’s Grounder products. All of it, even the chalky toothpaste she has that fizzes into a foam. As he massages the deep purple bar into a froth he thinks about how excited so many of the people of Arkadia were to get the bottled shampoo from Mount Weather supplies. This stuff smells pretty great and he can feel how soft it is from the bubbles alone as he washes the rain and the mud and his come off Clarke’s skin.

He washes her hair. Properly this time, using the same natural soap bar.

She returns the favour and Bellamy has a hard time looking away from her as she concentrates on sudding up his hair, sweeping it back and running her fingers over his scalp.

Neither of them speak much, the falls blocking conversation similar to the rain the night before, but both of them move together, seemingly to understand each other. Clarke runs a single finger through the bubbles covering his chest and he thinks it might be the most pointless, unproductive thing he’s ever seen her do. There’s no goal to it, nothing learned or gained. It’s that, somehow more than anything else, bowing his head and watching her trace squiggles and patterns through Grounder-made bubbles on his chest and down his torso as they stand naked in the lightening of the sunrise and the waterfall crashes beside them – it’s that that makes him realise he loves her. It’s not maybe, it’s not falling for her. He loves her, he is in love with her. And he thinks he even loves this, thinks he could do this. Be away from their people, live by Grounder-made stuff, have sex and shower outside and just love her.

It kind of terrifies him. He can’t leave Octavia – won’t. He knows that. Especially now when she’s so unsettled again for the first time in so long. He trusts her with Lincoln but Lincoln can’t leave Arkadia these days and Octavia is still his responsibility. But their people, Arkadia…he thinks maybe he could do it. He worries he wants to. Worries the only way he could be with her properly is by disappointing her. She trusts him to take care of them while she can’t, he knows that. He can’t be useful just the two of them. He can barely even start a fire.

He takes Clarke’s hand in his, stopping her movement and causing her to look up at him. Droplets cling to her lashes like last night but it’s light now and he sees…everything.

Her brows start to knit together, pulling down as she stares at him and he realises he hasn’t said anything. And he can’t say anything. She doesn’t want him to leave everyone and be with her. She doesn’t want him every day.

He frowns, trying to stop the tears he can feel from falling. He takes the bar from her hands and touches her upper arm, turning her so her back is to him.

Sniffing, he takes an unsteady breath through his mouth, grateful for the noise of the water as he sweeps her hair over her left shoulder so he can see her back. He keeps the bar in his left hand, curling his arm around her and resting it on her waist as he starts kissing the top of her back and around her neck. Clarke tilts her head for him as he licks up the water on her skin, fisting the bar in his hand as he distracts himself.

He works up her throat, to her ear, relying on the reaction it will create. She shivers, on cue, and even as the tears sting, Bellamy can’t help the smile he feels. He knows her, maybe better than anyone does.

Clarke’s left hand covers his own, still at her waist, and she turns slightly, looking over her right shoulder at him. She dips her head until her temple touches his and Bellamy somehow feels even more love for her as she nuzzles against him and he watches the soft smile on her face. Turning a bit more she reaches for his face with her right hand, her fingertips guiding him closer until she kisses him. Slow, deep. He can’t help putting his hand on her cheek, helping her keep her position as he kisses her back.

She pulls away first, unclenching the soap bar from his hand and taking it in her own and spins around to face him again. She wipes the bar over his chest, creating suds, and goes right back to t lines through the bubbles.

“I wasn’t done.” She says, leaning closer so he can hear.

Bellamy lets her, bringing his hands up to stroke over her shoulders just because he can’t stop touching her.

She doesn’t look up at him much as she continues her mindless task, giving the same level of concentration and dedication she would give to something that actually mattered. He watches her head occasionally tilt, her eyebrows draw together as she strokes messages of nothing over his skin, just because she wants to. His throat closes up, understanding that maybe she doesn’t want to be with him every day, but he’s what she’s choosing to share this with.

 

 

They’re lying closer to the fire then normal, stretched out in front of it. Clarke’s hair is dry, fanned out above her head as Bellamy lies behind her, leaning on his elbow and running his fingers through it, detangling it and enjoying the wavy curl, as he has been on and off for hours now. Blonde.

It’s got to be nearing midday, well past when usually they’d say goodbye but Clarke is still here.

“You should stay another night.” He finally risks saying.

“Bellamy.” She sighs.

He’s learned to talk over that sigh. He’s learned it isn’t necessarily her shutting him down, that instead it’s more like she thinks she should be shutting him down, but often she never goes further than saying his name.

“I don’t want you travelling late.”

“Worried about me?” he hears the rare joke in her voice as she tries to withdraw.

“Yes.” He says honestly. She’s quiet. He’s learned it from her, that being blunt about caring can have an influence, can get you to the point, can win you the point. Her ‘I need you’ is permanently in his head.

She rolls over and faces him, looking up at him. “People will notice if you’re gone for so long.”

“I’ll go show my face and come back,” he shrugs. “I can bring food.” He teases in a low tone, raising his eyebrows.

Her eyes narrow as she stares up at him. “Cucumber.”

“Cucumber.” He repeats with a frown.

A smile spreads across her mouth. “I wanna see how green it is.” She whispers, something so sweet in her voice, something like wonder he thinks should have been ripped from all of them by now.

He grins down at her before letting his eyes travel further over her body. The fire glows against her skin, her eyes almost fucking twinkling with it. Her hair is still fanned around her head and he watches her chest start to heave as she reacts to his attention.

Sitting up, he shifts, moving until he’s between her legs. He takes a hold of both her legs, bending them at the knee and placing her feet on his thighs as he sits back on his ankles. He spreads her legs and looks at her lying in front of him, at all of her.

 

Clarke has little patience when it comes to sex. Foreplay doesn’t seem to interest her very long. Even the way her body reacts. She gets so wet so quickly, from so little sometimes, though he’s learned the best ways to get that reaction. It’s like she’s always ready for him, always wants him, but Bellamy likes to enjoy her.

“Bellamy,” she huffs at him, tilting her hips up for attention.

“Wait.” He says with a smile he tries to hide.

She’s so demanding. And he fucking loves it. Didn’t think he would, didn’t think he would find something so satisfying and wonderful in someone being so bossy and forceful considering all he ever wanted was to be in control of his own life, but somehow Clarke being so clear in what she wants does something to him. There’s so much of the Clarke he’s known since the start in it.

He slides his fingers up higher, barely brushing her clit before going back down, still not penetrating her. He watches her back arch at the contact before she slumps back with a huff. He tries to keep the smirk off his face but he can’t help the throaty chuckle he gives when Clarke moves her hand down and starts touching herself. He doesn’t try to stop her, enjoying watching as she rubs at herself, her clit peeking from under her fingers.

He puts two fingers inside her in one glide, even more enjoying how her fingers still, her feet press into his thighs and she lifts herself off the ground as she moans.

“Good?” he asks, twisting his fingers as he pushes her hips back down with his free hand, keeping her there.

“Good,” she says with a catch. “Again,” she demands, Bellamy does as she asks and she starts moving her fingers over herself again. “Faster.” She insists, the balls of her feet digging deeper as she tilts her head back, her fingers rubbing faster as well.

His shoulder rests against her knee as he moves closer to her, thrusting his fingers deeper inside. He spreads them a little, feeling as he stretches her cunt.

“Bellamy!” she pants. “Yes, yes, yes.” She breathes out over and over and Bellamy grits his teeth, trying to ignore his own want but he can feel her almost pulsing and her breasts are heaving, her arm creating cleavage as she touches her clit and how and why the fuck should he ignore all that? He removes his grip on her hip and takes his hard on in hand and roughly strokes himself in time with Clarke.

Clarke jerks up and lets out a moan as she comes. Her toes curl against his thighs. Quickly he takes his fingers from her and comes right on her slit with a deep grunt. He rubs his cock against her, sliding himself back and forward again, pressing down and squeezing the last drops out. Using his cock, he spreads his come around, dipping the head inside her the slightest amount as he slowly strokes himself a few more times, trying to get a hold of his breathing, trying to look away from the mess on her cunt.

Clarke lets out a giggle and as he looks up he sees her with a smile that shows her teeth.

“I guess it’s good I’m staying another night,” she says, her breathing heavy as she lifts her head and looks down at herself. “I need another shower,” Bellamy watches as she lowers her hand from where it was resting on her stomach, sliding past her clit and dips her fingers through the come covering her. “You got me all messy. Again.” She says, dropping her head back onto the bedding but her fingers keep moving, playing with the mix of their come on her cunt. Then her index and middle finger touch him where his cock still sits against her entrance, her fingers creating a V that slips over him easily with how wet he is from her.

He feels desire and an insane amount of need considering he just came as she nudges his cock down until he’s almost inside her. And he wants. He can’t come again yet, his body won’t allow it, but she can. “Do you want to come again?” he asks her, managing to look away from where she’s playing with him, with both of them.

She stares at him and spreads her legs even more and he swears there’s a challenge there.

Shifting, he lets go of himself and hooks Clarke’s thighs in his hands, pulling her closer and up a little. He keeps her feet on his thighs but spreads his own so there’s more room. She lets him manoeuvre her about, still staring at him.

He uses his fingers to gathers his come that’s pooling at her entrance, tracing down further and circling her ass once, twice, enjoying the twitch and the gasp she gives when he presses some pressure. He soothes the leg he still has his left hand on, moving his right back to her cunt where he spreads the come on his fingers, along her pussy lips, like lube and pushes two back inside. Clarke pulls her own hand back, letting him take over completely. Working them in and out, he stretches them like before, twisting them a little. He pays attention to her feet, the way her toes curl and press into the flesh of his thigh, and makes himself tear his eyes away from her cunt to see if she’s okay. Her head is tipped back, her breasts rising and falling as she breathes. He can hear his own breathing too.

She looks amazing. She always looks amazing.

A third finger is added easily enough, the only real sign of a difference in Clarke’s breathy, cut-off moan and the pressure of her against his fingers. He keeps them about half way inside, stilling. She moves her hips in tiny circles like she can’t help herself, a sure tell she wants more, he’s learned, a tell that she wants to come.

He slowly thrusts them in and out of her a few times before going deeper inside, enjoying the almost blinding heat of her. The muscles at the top of her thighs tense. He works in and out of her, gaining speed as her breathing deepens and he lets his eyes drift up to see her almost completely arched off the ground.

He doesn’t touch her clit. If she really wants it she’ll let him know, or take over herself, but he knows she can get sensitive and even though she’s just come, he wants to work up her next orgasm.

Leaning his head against her left knee, he watches her take his fingers, listens to how wet she is as she thrusts her hips back at him. He half wonders if she could take another, but he doesn’t want to hurt her and besides –

Clarke’s cry, the way she leaps her hips up as he separates and stretches his fingers inside her has Bellamy immediately stilling.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” she breathes out. But he can’t see her, her head tilted back into the furs so much.

“Clarke.” He tries, not moving in case he hurts her.

“Yes!” she repeats more firmly, letting her hips back down as she looks down at him. “Again.”

He still doesn’t move, keeping his eyes on her face.

“Bellamy, please. Do it again.”

He does it again, opening his fingers inside her, even slower this time, watching her face this time. Her eyes close and her mouth falls open, her feet digging into his thighs as she pushes herself onto his fingers.

He pulls them out of her still separated, slowly, keeping her open for him until he’s just over a knuckle deep before pushing back inside, letting his thumb just graze against her clit.

“Ohh, fuck!” she moans at him, pushing back impatiently.

He doesn’t think it’s a pain thing. She’s never shown it before. He thinks it might be a challenge thing if anything but his fingers are soaking and Clarke has started feeling herself, twisting her nipple in left hand and he can feel her clamp down on him every time he thrusts back inside.

He ignores his own developing hard on. It’s not the point.

Lifting her left leg from his thigh with his free hand, Bellamy drapes it over his shoulder instead so he can get even closer, and pushes her right one wider with his elbow, widening her legs for a better angle. He fucks her with his fingers more playfully then she’d like, he knows, but he can’t stop staring at the way he’s stretching her each time he pulls his fingers back. He adds pressure against her clit on the drag, and again when he pumps back instead, trying to abate her, but she’s Clarke and soon her foot is digging at his shoulder, almost hooking around his neck.

“Please,” she breathes, wetting her lips as she opens her eyes and looks at him. “Bellamy, hurry up.” She demands. “Hurry up, hurry, hurry.” She repeats, closing her eyes again and tipping her head back as she waits for him to do as she asks.

It reminds him of that first time and it makes him realise how much of herself she gave then. That wasn’t Clarke with just a pent-up quickie with anybody, that was Clarke, with him. He has her laid out completely naked now, has been with her all night and day and she’s his as much as he thinks she can be, and she’s reacting the same way as she did when he couldn’t even see all of her, had never felt her before and thought she was pulling away from him, was forgetting him.

Turning his face into her leg draped over him, he grits his teeth, trying not to shift and drive his cock into her as deep and as hard as he can, to feel her heat properly. This was supposed to be about her.

“Okay.” He whispers against her leg, placing quick kisses before leaning some of his weight and pushing her leg back. It falls off his shoulder as she bends her knee to adjust, her foot settling by his collarbone instead, her hips lifting and tilting with the movement too.

He switches his three fingers for two again, using her arousal to slide and circle his thumb over her clit, as he pushes them deep inside. He curls his fingers slightly inside her, dipping his thumb down and up with extra pressure against her clit. Clarke jerks and when he looks up to see her, her back is totally arched off the ground, pushing her breasts up and she’s got her hands on either side of her head, bent at the elbow so the backs of her arms are facing him as she grips the furs between her fingers.

He can feel himself sweating, can barely tell the difference between her pants and his own and he wraps his arm around her right leg that’s still in the air against him, for balance.

Rocking his fingers into her, he twists his wrist up and down more than anything so his fingers stay inside her as he curls them back and forth, being a little rougher with his administrations on her clit.

Her leg tenses in his hold, the ball of her other foot pushing into the top of his thigh where it sits and she lets out these little moans, almost whines, over and over, getting breathier and higher-pitched as she does. He feels the walls of her flutter and it’s so similar and different than when she’s clamping around his cock. He risks spreading his fingers again, though less than before in this different position and flicks her clit and Clarke reacts immediately, saying his name in an exhale before she drops back to the ground. Both her legs go limp against him and Bellamy carefully takes out his fingers, resting his head against her calf as he swallows.

“You’re amazing.” He says with awe. His throat his dry as if he’s the one who’s been moaning so much, as if he’s the one who’s been breathing so heavily.

“Me?” she wipes the back of her hand against her forehead, leaving it there as she tries to catch her breath. “You just made me do that and I’m the amazing one?” she swallows, wetting her lips.

“You should see yourself,” he continues, his eyes tracing over her. “You look…” He trails off, not sure what to say that won’t tell her how much he loves her. That she’s the most incredible, surprising thing in the world. Beyond the world. He lets his eyes fall down, looking at where he’s paid so much attention. She looks swollen, pink and open and so fucking wet. The light of the fire makes her glisten, even with the shadow of her right leg, still bent at the knee and against his chest.

She must get uncomfortable with how much he’s looking at her because she starts to close her legs, leaning them inwards as she and pulls the furs half over herself. Bellamy kisses the inside of her ankle and brushes his thumb over her skin of her thigh before letting her leg drop, leaning his head fully on her knee and looking down at her. He shakes his head at her, staring into her eyes for a second before he moves. Pulling back, he reaches for a cloth and uses it to wipe off the come from her and his fingers.

She winces a little, tensing her legs.

“You alright?” he asks, worried.

“Yeah,” she stretches. Fully, arms reached out above her head, her hips moving like she’s sore everywhere. “I’m not sure this extra day is going to get you anymore sex though.” She says with a smile, though her eyes are closed from her stretch.

“That’s okay,” he says with a smile, laying her legs down. “It’s not why I’m here,” He adds sincerely, waiting for the tone to land. Her eyes open and seek him out. “It’s not why we’re here.” He tells her. And he does tell her, with some confidence he feels. He has to say something, feeling the need to tell her, to do something with what he feels so much and he won’t let her pretend something different, won’t let her pretend this is all about sex. He’d do this every day with her if she wanted. On a real bed, on the floor, in the fucking woods. He’d even come here with her every day, as long as they arrived and left together. He can’t say any of that because she’ll run if he does, he knows she will. But he can’t say nothing.

The small smile that tugs both corners of her mouth as she looks back at him, and doesn’t argue, just makes him feel everything even more. Then she leans up and reaches out to him and he goes, falling into the space between her legs until he’s on top of her, blanketing her. His semi sits against her but he finds himself resting his elbows on either side of her and brushing her hair back and just staring into her eyes, tracing down her face, as if to prove the point.

“Another day might be nice.” She whispers, blinking up at him.

He nods, then kisses her.

He places one more kiss to her lips before sitting up again. “I should probably go now,” he says. “Faster I go, faster I can come back.” Faster he leaves, faster he can stop himself from trying to get her to come with him. To say she can shower, a second-rate but fully private one, she can eat. See their friends, her mom. Just a visit, she wouldn’t have to stay. It makes complete sense in his head, seems like it would have a chance in his head, but he knows better, remembers she has visited already and he wasn’t supposed to see her, so he clamps his mouth closed.

“Don’t let that go out.” He says instead, pointing at the fire as he puts his dried clothes on.

Clarke rolls her head towards the fire, still lying down. “Have trouble starting it in the first place?”

He takes a breath, opens his mouth and lets it close again. “Don’t let it go out.” He repeats.

Clarke laughs. A full laugh and…fuck. Who the hell was he before her?

 

She sees him off naked but for the furs wrapped around her like a sheet and it’s domestic and normal and unlike anything he’s ever had before and he tries not to like it so much, but the fact that he’ll see her again so soon, the fact that she smiles at him all wide-eyed and that he can still taste her on his lips spreads warmth through.

“Don’t…” he stops himself, letting his eyes falter from hers, zeroing in on her jawline instead. _Don’t leave me_ , he wants to say. Clarke frowns at him, looking worried, more serious than she has this entire night and day. “Just…wait for me.” He finally gets out, looking back to her eyes.

Her face clears, understanding. “I’ll be here, Bellamy.” She quietly promises with a small smile.

 

He makes a point of being outside in the Arkadian yard, letting people just see him without having to talk to anybody. He goes to his room, choosing not to shower and just wash his hands and change his clothes. He’s still getting used to being able to do that most days again, even if it’s the same outfit. The one he takes off probably smells better though, it having been soaked by foamy water from Clarke’s soap bar.

Then he goes to Kane to rearrange his shift.

He’s mapping out a giant board in the Chancellor’s office when Bellamy knocks.

“New plans?” Bellamy asks, eyeing the map.

“Hm,” Kane says, finishing the section. He recaps the pen and looks at the board. “If we can learn better, we can respond better. Find our place.” He muses, almost to himself.

“Sounds good.”

“I want us to cover most of this in person.” He points at the map as he finally turns to Bellamy.

“Alright,” Bellamy agrees, looking at the board. “I was hoping I could switch out tonight.” He faces Kane.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’m just…not feeling right,” he says with a frown, wishing he was still looking at the board. “I think the rain got to me.” Not technically a lie.

Kane looks him over and nods without suspicion, as far as Bellamy can tell. “Shouldn’t be a concern. Surveying storm damage is taking priority.”

“Is there much?” Bellamy asks with some worry.

“Nothing significant, so they can do without you.” Kane allows kindly with a shake of his head.

“Thanks,” Bellamy didn’t think it would be an issue, but still, he is grateful. “Put me down for something extra if you want.” He offers, only feeling a little bad. He doesn’t want to take advantage of the trust Kane seems to have in him, doesn’t want to let Kane down, but he wants to go back to Clarke more. It’s not even close. And they can manage without him. He’ll make up for it another day.

Kane nods at him.

“I’m uh,” his frown deepens. “I’m gonna get some food, head back to my room.” He excuses, gesturing over his shoulder before leaving.

 

He passes the rec hall on his way to get food and sees Jasper alone at the bar. Going inside, he spots Raven at the other side, down the far end of the large room, playing some game at a table with a bunch of people. By the beaming smile he’s sure she’s winning. She looks busy enough that maybe she’ll see him, but won’t come over which he thinks is perfect enough to risk.

He waves off the guy manning the bar, gesturing he doesn’t want a drink, as he takes a seat next to Jasper.

“Where’s Monty?” Bellamy asks, taking a quick look around in case he missed him.

Jasper shrugs, clutching his drink in both hands. “Probably with Harper.” He mutters, staring at his drink and the bartop.

Oh. Bellamy hadn’t even noticed. What else is he missing?

He stares at his friend, trying to decide what to do, what to say. “It’ll get better.” He tries.

Jasper scoffs, his shoulders jerking. “Will it?” he nods to himself. “You know what it’s like to hate yourself, right?” he asks almost casually.

Bellamy stills. “Yeah.” He whispers, clearing his throat.

Jasper turns to him and he looks like Jasper again. Genuine, curious, open. His eyes are shinning and he looks a little desperate like maybe he’s finally going to ask for help. And he opens his mouth, but then he kind of jerks forward, like he’s falling, his eyes glaze before he cuts contact and catches himself, turning back to the bar as he sways. “Good.”

Bellamy hangs his head. Part of him wants to yell at him, to tell him to stop destroying whatever is left. But he can’t. He can’t because Clarke is alive. She’s waiting for him. And whatever they are, whatever more he wishes they were, they are something. There’s hope for something there. Jasper doesn’t have that with Maya. He won’t ever again. And he can’t imagine losing Clarke, doesn’t know what it would do to him. He thinks he would self-implode just as much as Jasper is. He’d probably take everybody else with him.

Sliding off the barstool, he tells the guy behind the bar not to serve Jasper anymore alcohol, knowing Jasper will just go behind the bar and serve himself anyway. He pats Jasper on the shoulder before he leaves, Jasper doesn’t respond.

At least Jasper is here, Bellamy tells himself, where so many people surround him if something happens, if he does something, if he does reach out for help.

 

He quickly gets and eats some food for himself. He gets Clarke a whole salad with an abundance of cucumber and as much colour as he can find. There’s even purple in there, from some cabbage. The only white thing is something called celiac, which other than ‘root vegetable’, he has no clue what it is.

He gets her a portion of boiled rice and tomato-based sauce too, something that’s actually going to fill her up.

The amount of room used to grow something that nutritiously does so little as the salad is ultimately an unknown thing for them. It would have been a thumbnail of mush on The Ark. Maybe that’s the difference between living and just surviving, he thinks, like Clarke talked about. The difference between having what you want and only what you need.

 

He leaves the same way they left the night she came back, around the back, though he can’t go through the fence this time and the ones at the gate do see him. They let him through, used to him being one of the only people who actually comes and goes, but as he does, Bellamy realises so few of them do. So few of them have ever taken a step out of these grounds. It’s what’s driving Octavia crazy. She doesn’t understand it. Maybe it isn’t surprising, it’s what they were all used to, after all, but still, they have the whole world and hardly any of them want to explore it. Maybe they just don’t trust the Grounders. He isn’t sure. It’s not like he talks much to others. His circle is pretty small when it comes down to it and all of them are happy to go outside the gates, even though they’re the ones who have been through the worst down here, who have been locked up, hunted, attacked. Maybe that’s why, why all of them take the chance to leave, to know that they can. He wonders if the same goes for Clarke coming back, at least that first time, to see if she could.

It’s going to have to change in some way though, he thinks. No one’s said anything to him yet but they’re going to have to expand. They’ll run out of Mount Weather food supplies soon and while they’re replanting, they don’t have the room to do it with everything. They’ll have to grow things in the ground and it will take a lot of space, especially when they start growing grains. They don’t have the power of the dam like Mount Weather and they can’t grow crops vertically. He thinks they’ll be able to expand the grounds they already have, into the fields. The Grounders didn’t seem to have much problem with where Arkadia is. The nearest village is some distance away and the two never cross paths. As long as they don’t start cutting into the woods, Bellamy doesn’t think it will be too much of a problem. He hopes, anyway, something he actually has lately, hope.

 

She’s still there and the fire is still lit, a new pile of firewood next to it.

Her hair is damp against his fingers when he cups her jaw, but not wet, so he assumes she did go back to the falls but didn’t wash her hair again.

She lets out a disbelieving, happy laugh when he hands her the salad, going straight for the cucumber. They sit down on the furs and Bellamy thinks it might be some kind of dinner in bed.

When she offers him some, he munches on some peppers that he’s sure Clarke doesn’t like much the way she frowns as they crunch in her mouth, even though she keeps eating them. He half-worries he’s developing a habit of watching her eat, enjoying it way too much. She’s so fucking joyful about it and he sort of loves that for how complicated she can be, for how stubborn, there’s these simple things that make her so easily happy. Like colourful, flavourful food. Or the way stroking down her spine makes her relax and hum soft little moans at him. Like breathing against her ear gets her hot, and wet. Or the way drawing on his body through suds apparently gives her some peace of mind.

Watching her lick her lips, biting her teeth over her bottom lip like she’s savouring it, he realises he’s unsure exactly what she lives on. She brings some kind of meat sometimes, though he doesn’t know what it is, or where she gets it from. He doesn’t want to ask, one of those things that reminds how much she doesn’t live her life with him, a whole life without him. But he knows her body and he doesn’t think she’s losing weight at least so she’s okay, she is eating enough and that’s all that matters.

So as she makes her way through the rice and sauce, he asks about another part of her life he doesn’t have a place in but that does want to know about.

“You and Wells were friends your whole lives?”

She swallows slowly, getting more comfortable as she thinks about it, about if she wants to tell him, he assumes. “Yeah. Jaha was an engineer before he became Chancellor. He and my dad worked together. They were friends.”

“Was your dad on the Council too?” he asks.

“No, my dad…” she trails off, looking down at the tub of food. She places the wooden spoon she’s using, the one that’s hers, the one that is Grounder-made, Grounder-inspired, and she chose instead of the metal one he brought with the food, on the corner of the tub and puts the whole thing down beside her. “He didn’t really like to be part of that. He did suggest my mom, though.” She adds flatly. She hasn’t looked back up yet but she shakes her head as she stares at nothing, looking annoyed. Fuming, actually.

“What?” he tries, but she still doesn’t look up. “Clarke.”

“I don’t think he knew that she betrayed him,” she says, her tone sadder than her mood suggests. “I don’t think he knew she was the one who told Jaha,” Finally she looks back to him, meeting his eyes. “I was there when he was floated. We both were,” her focus moves away again, her eyes looking dazed like she’s reliving the moment. “And there was nothing…” her voices catches. She shakes her head, her lips tightening in upset and Bellamy berates himself for bringing it all up again as she seeks eye contact with him again and hers shine with tears. “I thought it was my fault. I thought it was Well’s fault because I had told him,” her eyebrows raise as she lets out a teary, scoffing laugh. “How do you betray someone you love?”

Bellamy shakes his head and stares at her, unable to look away from her but he…he doesn’t know what to tell her. Octavia would probably say he's betrayed her, when he's lied, or ignored her say, or held her back for her own good. Gustus comes to his mind. But to sacrifice someone you love...Bellamy can't say anything because he can't imagine doing it.

“Unless you just don’t really love them as much as you think.” She mutters, turning away again.

“I don’t think it’s that simple, Clarke.” He says gruffly, finding his voice again. He doesn’t know everything. He’s put things together, remembers Clarke and her mom arguing in Ton DC, but he doesn’t really know.

“Isn’t it?” she challenges, anger replacing upset again. “You came down here for Octavia. You shot Jaha to do it,” she shrugs. “Wells got himself on the dropship for me.” She scoffs, lifting her chin as she looks up, an angry smirk on her face. “Raven came down in a pod for Finn.”

“And your mom did a lot to get down here to you.” He says. That much he does know.

It seems to stop the way she’s thinking, some of the anger at least. “Different kinds of love mean more? Is that it?”

Bellamy takes a small breath, now the one having trouble keeping eye contact. “I don’t know, it’s not like I’ve loved many people,” he says quietly, his eyes briefly catching hers before he looks down. Frowning, he tries to get back to the point, back to not outright saying he doesn’t know because the only experience he has of romantic love is for Clarke and he killed for her an hour after realising he had some kind of feelings for her. “I don’t think it usually comes down to one person or everybody else though.” His frown deepens.

“Doesn’t it?” Clarke asks, her tone quiet.

He’s stunned because she’s right. It does always seem to come down to that, even when they try to avoid it, even when they don’t see it coming, even when it isn’t death, even when it’s something else. Clarke’s dad, or everyone else. Octavia or everyone, for both himself and Lincoln. Finn, or everyone else. Even Lexa or everyone else as far as Gustus believed. Only hours before he was thinking about the fact that it may be Clarke or everyone else, that he may choose to be with her over everyone else.

When he raises his eyes again she’s staring at him, her expression sombre, but open. He stares back. “Is that why you won’t come home?”

A small, sad smile touches her lips and Bellamy feels the switch in them again. “It’s not my home, Bellamy.” She says with a patience that annoys him, like she has to calmly explain it to him because he doesn’t understand.

“Then where is?” he asks frustratedly, a heavy frown on his face. “Your friends are there, your mom is there, your people,” _I’m there_ , he wants to say. He sighs instead, closing his eyes before opening them again. “If Arkadia isn’t your home, Clarke, then where is?” he asks in a softer tone. Clarke doesn’t respond, her focus pinpointed somewhere on his chest, away from his face. He watches as her eyebrows pull together and her bottom lip trembles before she purses her lips together, controlling her upset. “You told me you dreamt of the ground,” he tries again. “You’re here. We’re here, on the ground,” He lets his eyes trail down her body until he’s staring at her hands. He takes a breath and takes the risk, reaching out to take her hand in his. “Together.” He whispers, staring at the way his hand seems to engulf hers until she turns hers over, lifts them both and then resettles them on top of her other one, both of hers holding his.

Neither of them speak and Bellamy keeps his head down, intent on the feel of her hands.

“Wells was my best friend,” her voice disturbs the quiet and he looks up to her face, but she’s still directing her attention downwards. “And he was…a really, really great best friend,” she sniffs before continuing. Bellamy feels her stroke the edge of her thumb against his fingertips. “And he was smart and kind and would have been so much better at being down here, at everything we’ve had to do, than I am. And I miss him, every day.”

“He loved you.” He finds himself saying, remembering calling Wells on it, remembering Wells not even trying to say it wasn’t the case.

“I know,” She nods and he watches her swallow before she looks up, immediately meeting his eyes. “Didn’t do him any good though, did it?”

He blinks, unable to look away from her but he isn’t sure how to handle this. “Being best friends with you must have made him happy in some way if he didn’t want to give it up.” He says carefully, not once losing eye contact. He doesn’t know who this is all about, if it’s about everybody. If she’s trying to warn him off. He doesn’t even know if she wants reassurance and comfort or if she wants to be blamed. He never knows for sure and he thinks maybe she doesn’t either. But he doesn’t regret what they are, or what they’ve done. They had to and all it brought them here. He’s sure Wells didn’t regret it either. Bellamy watched him for too long, trying to decide the best way to get the upperhand because he knew that Clarke would be the ruin of what he was doing. He knew she was the one who turn it all upside down. And she did. He just didn’t think he’d be so happy for it. He didn’t think she’d give him a better option, didn’t think she’d help him get himself out of the mess he’d made. He definitely didn’t think she’d stay by his side while he did, that she’d vouch for him through it, that she’d hold his hand through it, he thinks with a small smile as he curls his fingers, gripping hers.

Clarke takes a deep breath, loudly exhaling. “How’s Gina?” she asks, almost numbly. He looks at her silently. “You haven’t mentioned her since.” She explains, like that’s all there is to it.

Why would I, he wants to say. What even is this? “She’s fine.” He shrugs instead, frowning at her.

“Is she still…around?” she asks, her eyes fleeting away from him.

“Jealous?” he half-jokes, half-grumbles, not even knowing what the hell to think anymore. If he is sort of hoping she is or not. The emotional whiplash is starting to exhaust him more than fighting for their lives does.

She pauses, like she’s thinking about it. “Should I be?”

It’s not like Bellamy has more relationship experience than she does but he does know that when most people ask their partners, their lovers, their whatevers, that, it’s to ask if they have reason to be, if there’s anything to worry about. He’s sure Clarke is asking if she’s supposed to be, like if it’s expected of her. It deflates a lot of the annoyance he’s feeling. Maybe she’s just as confused as he is.

“No,” he sighs tiredly, to either, to both. Things are confusing and complicated enough without playing games. She’s too quiet, too thoughtful. “I don’t want anybody else.” He adds, trying to stop whatever thoughts are starting to form in her head. The flat smile she gives shows he’s right about it too.

Reaching over, he kisses her, catching her bottom lip between his. “Don’t.” he says against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes.

“It’s just –“

“Don’t.” he cuts her off. He’s not even entertaining it. She doesn’t get to do that. They’re too deep in.

She untangles their hands and touches her fingers to his mouth, her eyes watching her own movement and he’s reminded of that first morning they said goodbye.

 

“We used to tell each other stories about the ground,” she says a little later as they lie in front of the fire, something he thinks may becoming a habit, something he’s happy with becoming a habit. Clarke is in front of him as he works his fingers up and down her side. He isn’t sure if their conversation just got her thinking, or if it’s some kind of offering, to tell him about her life once upon a time. “Wells and I. He’d describe it and I’d draw it,” she pauses and he tries not to linger in his stroking too. “But there was never enough colour,” she whispers and he can hear the frown in her voice. “I didn’t love him back. Not like that.” She continues and he does still now, his fingers freezing on her waist. “I don’t know where that fits on your love scale, Bellamy, but it wasn’t enough,” She shifts in front of him, curling into herself as she rubs her face against the arm she’s leaning on. “Maybe my mom just married her best friend.”

He’s quiet, his hand sitting on her side.

He can’t say too much about best friends either. He doesn’t think he’s ever had one. Octavia was probably his, maybe his only friend. He thinks Clarke might fit that role now. It doesn’t get clearer as he thinks about the other examples in his life. Clarke and Wells – one loved one more than the other. Jasper and Monty – brothers, an equal push and pull to them. Finn and Raven – best friends, lovers and family all rolled into one. They’re all so different and he doesn’t think he and Clarke match any of them.

“You’re not your mother, Clarke,” he finally says. For all the likeness about them, the shared good and bad qualities, he’s sure a lot of who Clarke is comes from her dad. Clarke looked at him a lot of ways when they first landed. Like she thought he was an idiot, like she judged him, like she was furious with him, but she never looked through him the way Abby did. “And I’m not Wells.” He adds. He’s not good like Wells was, he’s not kind like Wells was. And he wouldn’t – couldn’t – accept watching Clarke cut him off and fall for someone else with the endless patience he watched Wells have.

“We’re sleeping together and I like you back.” She says sardonically, pissing him off all over again.

“I’m not Finn, either.” He bites back through gritted teeth, his fingers fisting against her skin.

He doesn’t expect the quiet, dark laugh she gives. “You’ve never disappointed me, Bellamy, so of course you’re not.” She says easily. “And I didn’t…” The change of her tone, from mocking to vulnerable as she trails off as him spinning yet again, draining the frustration from him. “I let Finn die, instead of everyone else.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he whispers against her back, all of his anger gone now. “There wasn’t another choice, and he knew it.”

“I let everyone in Ton DC get hit by the missile,” she points out. “Because I…because I couldn’t risk you.”

His breath catches and his heartbeat picks up. He knew that. Octavia had told him. Ranted at him, somewhere between rage and hurt, upset that someone she viewed as a friend risked her life but reacting in anger because that’s what Octavia does, not used to having such relationships with people. He worries it’s something he’s taught her. Bellamy thought he knew what it meant, and decided maybe it wasn’t that surprising. Clarke had been clear that as far as she was concerned, it all depended on turning off the acid fog and getting the Grounders out. So it made sense she wouldn’t want to risk that. It anything had happened to Octavia and if it had been anybody other than Clarke…but Octavia wasn’t even injured and it was Clarke, so he let it go. It was done. He thought he knew what it meant, but the way she says it now… “Clarke.” He breathes.

“One, or everyone else,” she repeats. “I couldn’t risk them finding you. It was my fault you were there.” She continues, shutting down his reassessment.

Bellamy closes his eyes, screwing them up against the tears he can feel. It still makes sense. Clarke takes on the burden of everything and she’d already told him she regretted letting him go in the first place. He tells himself it’s okay it’s not anything more than that, he tells himself not to remember how he felt when she told him it was worth the risk that he go, so soon after telling him she couldn’t lose him. She cares about him, she does. It’s enough. How would he deal with knowing her choosing him, just him, risked Octavia anyway? Bellamy represented everyone. Octavia was the one. Everyone's lives relied on his, as far as Clarke viewed it. She chose their people, over the Grounders in Ton DC, just like they both chose their people over those of Mount Weather. And all of it is why she doesn’t want to be around people anymore. She doesn’t want to face another choice, or the ones she's already made.

“Mount Weather is over. We both did what we had to do. It’s finished and we’re still here,” He wraps his arm around her, curling it underneath hers until he’s holding her as tight as he can, then he tips his forehead against the back of her head. “Just be here.” He begs.

“I’m trying.”

 

When they finally get ready to sleep that night Bellamy wonders what’s so special about him that Clarke is willing to try with him of all people. If maybe it’s just her regrets with the others she’s trying to fix through him and it isn’t really about him. But Clarke has always made Bellamy feel special, made him feel that she saw him. Saw more to him than anybody else did. She’s always made him feel like he could be worth more than what he was – better. Most of the time it was like she fully believed he was better and she expected it from him.

Maybe it’s the push and pull of them that he thinks has somehow always been there between them. The thing that’s made them work as a team. One of them always seems to step up when the other is faltering, one of them always level-headed when the other is worked up. He isn’t sure they’ve really both been at their best at the same time. Clarke needing him, needing something more than what she had by herself, was what made him really get it together in the first place. Not wanting Clarke to have to pull that lever by herself is what made him put his hand on hers. Clarke leaving because she couldn’t make herself be there is what made Bellamy try to be as productive, as reliable, as useful as he could be in pushing Arkadia to be a society.

Unless it just works the one way. Maybe she makes him better, but he doesn’t do that for her. Him trying to absolve her doesn’t matter as much as when she does it to him. Clarke could get him to come back, because she needed him, but he couldn’t make her stay. She carries guilt for choices she made because she felt responsibility to him, to protect him.

Maybe he loves her, and she just likes him back.

 

She starts talking. She tells him about her birthday when she didn’t know who she loved more, Wells or her dad because Wells gave her chalk and her dad gave her charcoal.

He wonders how far back that push and pull goes. It’s obvious Clarke had a pretty good life, where she was loved and happy. It wasn’t like he was miserable. He knew he was loved, but it was difficult, with constantly building resentment about how unfair it all was – a resentment he thinks is only dying down now. He’s holding someone who had as perfect a life someone could have on the Ark until only a year ago. A princess of the elite. While he spent his life afraid and restricted. Yet he doesn’t feel a bit of spite, or anger. He feels glad for her, fucking happy for her, happy that she got that, and he feels like the privileged one for her sharing it with him. It just makes him hold her even tighter, stroking his fingertips down her side and back as she lies over him, talking to his chest.

He tells her he used to read Homer to Octavia. That she loved The Odyssey but got bored with The Iliad but always asked him to keep reading whenever he stopped. He tells her he used to do everything he could to keep a smile on Octavia’s face, to make her forget she couldn’t leave the room. That he’d tell Octavia those stories so she could still dream, even though she would never have anything outside of those walls, and he knew he would never have anything but her.

He tells her he named Octavia.

Clarke turns her head and looks up at him at that. She looks at him like she already knew, but is still awed at the same time.

She asks him what his mother’s name was.

“She got to leave the room, Bellamy,” Clarke says. She lets out a laugh, a smile touching her mouth as she moves to lie back down again and he looks down at blonde, hearing the smile instead of seeing it. “She got to chase butterflies.”

And he got this.

He grips her tighter.

 

His first thought when he wakes up to Clarke tucked into his side, practically snuffling into him, is he got to wake up two days with her. He tries not think about a third, and a forth, a fifth and a sixth all blending together where he doesn’t have to miss her.

He can’t have that. Not yet. But then last week he didn’t think he’d have two days.

“I don’t like peppers.” She whispers, her voice full of sleep.

Bellamy smiles. “I know.”

 

He ends up helping her dye her hair. He’s conflicted about it at first, annoyed at himself for being part of hiding her away, of enabling her staying away, but she’s doing it anyway and somehow it helps to be a part of it, to know he’s the only one who is a part of it. Plus, maybe it does help keep her safe, and Bellamy will do anything for that.

He thought the dye would be something wet, a paste or something maybe, but it’s a powder and the way she rolls sections of her hair, harshly scrubbing them back and forth between her palms makes him realise why some of it has been thicker. The natural wave of her hair seems to make sections clump easier too, before she gets rid of the curl.

There’s red all over his hands, a bit on his inner elbow that he doesn’t wipe away until he showers next. Bellamy isn’t sure what it says that now he actually wants to carry some of that red around with him, on him. He’s more understanding of the relief he feels, of the memories that come to mind when it does just wash away from his skin, and he stands under the spray, his dick hardening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things.
> 
> Given this is the smuttiest Chapter, I figure it's time for some safe sex talk.  
> I think there's an argument to be made that STDs would have been eradicated on The Ark. I suppose it would depend on if any astronauts with anything made it through their countries physical and were granted the mission, and then if they past it to anyone.  
> I also don't know if there's argument that STDs would be fucking rampant on the ground. Again, I suppose it would depend who survived.  
> Condoms obviously don't exist anymore in either world. The only canonical contraceptive reference I remember is implants, and I don't think it was gender-specific. I'd like to believe they had perfected male contraceptive implants by then but either way, it stands to reason they would be standard and they would be given well before the age of 18. And they must have a high success rate because the way everyone starts hooking up as soon as they land, including Bellamy who knows the consequences of pregnancy in world, no one seems to be concerned about it. So either it's all the most careful non-vaginal sex, or that shit works well.
> 
> And as if come play wouldn't be a thing in a world where your options for lube are, well, is, natural lube.
> 
> I don't believe Bellamy was the 'everyone' when it came to Ton DC. I think that might be how Clarke would justify it in her head, but that call was all about Bellamy as far as my opinion goes. I'm just not ready for him to realise that.
> 
> And before anybody panics, yes the red dye on Bellamy's hands is supposed to symbolise blood as well, but it's...There's no non-canonical deaths coming or anything like that. Nothing even close.
> 
>  
> 
> I'll shut up now.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And especially for all the really nice and encouraging comments :)
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. There's a few reasons for it but I won't get into them. I should have another update this weekend, though it will be shorter.
> 
> I hope you all like it, for everyone still reading :)

“How much longer?” he asks Raven again, trying not to pace back and forth. It’s almost dark and they’re a two hour drive at least from Arkadia. He’s going to be so late. He’s already late.

“God, what is your deal?” Raven turns to him from her position at the solar panel of the Rover. She’s on the other side of it so he can only see her shoulders, her face, and the completely exasperated look she’s giving him. “Why so eager to get back? I know you don’t have a date to get to,” she snipes with a quirk of her eyebrow as she turns back to her task. “All my good intentions just wasted.”

“Raven.” He tries.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, keeping her attention on the panel. “No time, too busy, not feeling it. I get it.”

“What are you talking about?” Octavia asks, staring up at Raven.

“Bellamy rejecting my match-making skills.”

Octavia frowns. “You set him up with someone?”

“Tried,” Raven corrects, still not taking her focus away from the wiring. “Not interested, apparently.”

“Who’d you set him up with?” Octavia demands.

Bellamy sighs, closing his eyes and wishing he was where he was supposed to be. A stupidly domesticated cave with Clarke.

“Tried,” Raven repeats, stopping what she’s doing and looking up and around. “Why is no one listening to me?” she asks herself. “And Gina. She’s great,” she goes back to the wires. “He’d find that out if he gave her a chance.”

“She’s not his type.” Octavia almost spits, a scowl on her face and Bellamy wonders why she thinks she knows what his type is and why she’s so offended about it.

Raven widens her eyes, even as she focuses so close to what she’s doing he can barely see them. “Yeah, well, it’s not like there’s a collection of blue-eyed blondes to pick from around here.”

“Don’t forget princess-entitled.” Miller adds from inside the Rover, his voice carrying through the open roof.

“Small chance of that,” Raven says before she looks at him with a smile that seems genuine. “Only one of a kinds for this one.”

Miller stands up, popping his head and upper body through the roof so he’s right next to Raven. He laughs.

Bellamy stands there silently wondering what the hell is happening. How do they… When did they all come to the conclusion he’s into Clarke? And when did they all talk about it? They rarely mention Clarke since she’s gone, though now he’s wondering if maybe they just don’t mention her around him.

Octavia gives a small chuckle, almost a tut, making him realise he’s not being laughed, but they’re actually all smiling about his apparently known feelings for Clarke, even though she’s not there anymore.

He can’t stop the smile he feels, giving his own quiet laugh as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“I dunno, I’d go with Gina,” Jasper says as he hovers by the back of the Rover. “Less chance of all your friends dying that way.”

Everyone stills, all smiles and good feeling stopping dropping.

Still Bellamy can’t get angry with him. He’s found something he’s sure is some kind of happiness with someone he loves. He can’t get annoyed at Jasper’s pain that he’s lost his.

“Everyone in the Rover,” he quietly orders. No one listens to him, all of them staring at him. “Now, guys.”

He turns and looks at Jasper before he steps inside. Jasper doesn’t have his usual look of amused glee, he doesn’t even have his arrogant look. As he catches Bellamy’s eyes he just looks sad. Bellamy is suddenly aware Monty isn’t here to shove Jasper on, to stop him fidgeting, to tell him off, to put his attention on him. He hears Clarke’s words in his head about them being best friends their whole lives as he watches Jasper haul himself inside the Rover as if it takes effort to move.

Turning to the others he finds them in the same places. He glares at Miller and Raven.

“I’m in the Rover!” Miller raises his hands, gesturing to his body, the half of it Bellamy can’t see.

Raven’s back to the wires. “And I’m busy,” she says, putting her hand out to Miller and snapping her fingers. “Torch.”

“And now I’m helping.” Miller smirks as he shines his torch over the panel.

Bellamy shakes his head at both of them.

Octavia comes up to him. “Don’t worry, Bell, Clarke will wait.”

Bellamy stares at her before quickly checking the others didn’t hear and then grabs her elbow and pulls her aside. “What?”

Octavia rolls her eyes at him. “You leave the worst tracks. Honestly, I don’t know how Clarke hasn’t taught you better yet. She’s not too bad.” She praises with a twist of her mouth.

“How…” Bellamy blinks as he looks down at her. “How do you know it’s Clarke?” he asks in hushed whisper.

“You mean besides the obvious? You did just hear all that, right?” Octavia says almost mockingly, her eyebrows raised as she ducks her head back. “You’re too happy for it not to be,” she adds in a softer tone before it disappears again. “Besides, do you think Lincoln is an idiot?”

Bellamy closes his eyes, frowning heavily as he thinks, thinks of his promises to Clarke. “You can’t…”

“What? Tell everyone? Why would I?” she shrugs, like she thinks he’s stupid to even suggest it. “I’m kind of jealous of you guys,” she sighs. “You get to go wherever you want.”

Bellamy looks at her, his thoughts becoming concern for her. “At least you and Lincoln are together.” He tries, knowing how much it would mean to him if he and Clarke were together every day, living together with everybody else.

Octavia’s face softens as she looks down. “She’ll wait.” She says, changing back as she meets his eyes again.

“Thanks, O.” he says quietly, emotionally.

“Tell her we miss her,” Octavia says with sweetness she rarely so easily shows. She goes to walk back to the Rover before turning around again. “You know, I could have had you back in Arkadia by now if you’d let me bring Helios.” She has a smug smirk on her face now.

Bellamy sighs heavily. “Fine, next time you can bring the damn horse.”

The beaming smile she gives is worth it. It’s not like she’s wrong, either.

Octavia steps up onto the footing on the opposite side of the Rover to Raven, making a huddle of the three of them as she looks down at where the torch light is shining. “This thing ready to go yet or what?”

“ _This thing_ is a beautiful piece of machinery.” Raven says through gritted teeth.

“Helios will beat _this thing_ easily next run.” Octavia brags, pushing her back and forth against the roof excitedly.

Raven stops what she’s doing and looks across at Octavia. “Bellamy gave you the go-ahead?” she asks with a smile. Bellamy can’t see her face as she nods but he assumes Octavia has a similar smile. “Nice,” Raven praises before leaning forward, more into Octavia’s space. “And I don’t lose.” She adds with a smirk.

 

He’s tempted to jump out of the Rover before they even make it to the gates so he can leave quicker, but it will have the others asking even more questions than they already are. If Octavia has noticed and worked out exactly what he does every week, the others can’t be that far away, he doesn’t have to do something that will have them actually trying to come to a conclusion about it.

So he waits. He waits while everyone gets out, and gets back inside. He waits while Raven locks up the Rover, trying not to be am impatient ass.

“About done?” he asks from the other side.

“Yeah.” She says and maybe it’s just the metal between them, but there’s a shakiness to her voice that has him frowning.

“You alright?” he walks around to see her and finds her leaning with her hands flat against the Rover, her head bowed between her shoulders. “Raven?”

“I’m fine,” she tries to assure, pushing herself off the Rover to stand but Bellamy’s eyes drift to her leg as she hobbles a bit. “Just not very comfy up there, doing all the work, you know?” she smiles at him, giving a shrug like it isn’t a problem. He guesses that makes sense. The brace helps her walk but it’s not like maybe there isn’t some pain if she’s in an awkward position for a while – she may have been leaning a lot of her weight on that leg as she did the wiring.

He nods. “Alright. Well make sure you have Abby check you out. Maybe she’s got something that will help.”

“Sure,” she says, smile still bright. “But I’m fine. No big. Didn’t you have some important thing you wanted to be back for? You know, that had you annoying us all for hours with your gripping.” She teases.

He pauses. “It’s not…”

“Uh huh,” she cuts him off, thankfully, because Bellamy isn’t sure exactly what he was going to say. “You could waste more time trying to convince me or you could actually go do whatever it is that has you all worked up.”

He tries to ignore the unintended implication, really he does, but he’s just got Clarke running through his mind.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see you later.” He says with some discomfort.

Raven doesn’t seem phased, looking amused if anything. “Later.” She says to his back as he leaves, making sure to go inside and through the back, just in case.

 

He isn’t sure what to expect when he gets to the cave. If she’ll be there, if she’ll have waited. The glow of the fire and torches against the cave walls is what he sees first, and he takes it for a good sign. When he sees Clarke, she’s curled up in a corner. Furs are wrapped around her as she leans against the wall, asleep.

Taking a second, he stands and watches her. Part of him kind of wants to have a go at her. He could have been anybody, but it’s not like both of them don’t sleep here, off guard. The larger part of him…just wants to look at her. She looks so cute, and peaceful, in a cocoon of furs.

Slowly he approaches her, bending down on his haunches in front of her. He notices she’s got what’s obviously a sketchpad on her lap, and a small knife that he’s never seen before is by her side. “Clarke,” he whispers. “Clarke, hey.” He tries again, stroking some hair away back from her face.

Her eyebrows knit but she doesn’t open her eyes. “Bellamy.” She mumbles.

Bellamy takes the sketchpad from her. “What are you drawing?” he asks, unnecessarily, because turning it around to look at it, it’s obvious it’s him.

“You.” She says anyway.

He stares at the charcoal drawing, finding his throat closing some. “I hope this isn’t so you don’t forget me.” He tries to joke.

Clarke moves, causing him to look up at her. She blinks her eyes open, finding his. “I can’t forget you.” She says quietly. So quietly he isn’t sure what it is, if she’s regretful about that fact or not.

He looks away, dropping the sketchpad down. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He apologises.

Clarke hums, leaning back again. “That’s okay,” she says, sounding sleepy. He finds her eyes closed again when he looks at her. “Is everything okay?” she asks, only the slightest dip in her eyebrows showing concern. She looks completely relaxed where she is.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching out to brush along her cheek, enjoying the way she tilts into his hand. “Just the Rover ran out of juice.”

“The Rover?” she asks, her frown heavier now.

“It’s an automobile. Raven pretty much built it,” he explains. “Two, actually. They’re hooked up to solar panels.”

Her face relaxes again, a soft smile curving as she opens her eyes again. “Bellamy, that’s great.”

“Yeah, easier to get places…unless someone didn’t charge the battery enough,” he jokes, letting how relaxed she is seep into him. “It could even get you back to wherever in no time at all.”

Her smile gets bigger, showing her teeth as she blinks her eyes closed, leaning her head back. “That’s okay, I like the hike,” she muses. Hike, he notes. She opens her eyes, immediately meeting his. “And there aren’t any useable tracks on the way.” She whispers, full of teasing, her smile becoming a grin that has him chuckling.

He shifts, sitting down properly next to her. “For that, I’m not going to feel bad about telling you this,” he plays along, waiting for the grin to become a thoughtful frown again. “Octavia says hi,” he says with warmth. “Apparently I leave tracks and you should be teaching me better.” He further explains when she’s quiet.

Clarke smiles again, quirking her eyebrows. “She has a point.”

“Well I’m sorry I haven’t spent time out in the wild like you two.” He says mockingly with a smile.

“I think we’ve all been in the wild for a while now, Bellamy,” she points out with raised eyebrows which drop as she becomes serious. “Actually, it was Anya that showed me, after we got out of Mount Weather,” she sighs and looks down, fingering the corner of the page of her sketchpad. “Another person I got killed.”

“You didn’t do that.” He argues.

“I trusted the people that did. I trusted they would deliver something I promised,” she says calmly, like she’s sure she’s right and she just has to explain it to him. “I seem to have a problem doing that.” She whispers.

He watches her for a moment before saying anything. “Do you trust me?” He asks quietly, half-regretting it before he’s said it.

Raising her head, she gives him her focus again. “I trust you, Bellamy.” She says quietly and he believes it, but there’s something there that has him frowning as he stars back at her.

“But you wish you didn’t.” he concludes sadly. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t look away either and Bellamy wonders how much he’s supposed to take from it. How many things she’s saying with that look and that silence. That she’ll never fully be in this? That she’ll never come home? That he should give up on her entirely?

He doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t want to. He’s not supposed to be doing any of this without her. And he knows there has been change. She’s not like she was that first week. He is getting somewhere, he does see so much of who she’s always been in her still.

Clenching his jaw, he makes himself not lash out about it. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.” He stands up.

She looks up at him with a frown. “But you just got here.” She protests and her reaction of not getting her way and clearly wanting more time with him reassures his non-reaction.

Like often lately, he can’t help the smile he feels. “Yeah and you were already asleep, so you must need it,” He holds his hand out to her. “Come on.”

 

“Bellamy?” her voice is quiet as they settle into bed.

“Yeah?” he asks from his place behind her.

“I don’t regret trusting you. I never have.” She says.

He’s still at first, appreciating it and wondering how much to push, how much he can push. “When did you start?”

She moves in his arms, running her fingers along his forearm. “Long before you think.” She says easily.

It’s enough, he thinks, more, as he tightens his arms around her and he hears her let out a small, sleepy moan.

 

He wakes up to Clarke half on top of him, warm, and kissing his neck. It doesn’t have the effect it has on her, but it is Clarke doing it so it does have some effect.

“We’ve slept. Can we fuck now?”

He chuckles. He really doesn’t remember a time when the first thing he did in the morning was laugh.

“Yeah, we can fuck now.”

She moans happily and he’s sure he can feel her smile against his neck as she works her hand down his body, under his underwear and starts stroking his semi, giving another happy moan to find him quickly hardening from her touch.

He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet.

“A week can be a really long time.” She whispers.

“I’m aware.” For the first time since they landed, he finds himself wanting to masturbate most days. Not just jerk off quickly and thoughtlessly when he wakes up stiff or he feels alone enough to in the shower, but masturbate. He finds himself wanting to think about Clarke as he slowly gets himself off, indulging in it. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to take anything away from every time, even if he ends up coming too quickly because it has been a damn week. The yearning, the frustration, the way he ends up desperately all over her with that need each time he sees her again, is worth it. It reminds him there will be another time, another time building up to where he can indulge purely in her. And if he keeps it all until he is with her, he won’t just show any resentment, any annoyance he has that he has been without her, because there’s too much else to share with her. He knows it’s twisted and most likely wrong, but he doesn’t want to test it. Not yet, not while it is still a week apart.

She strokes down, briefly letting go of him to cup his balls, tugging lightly. The weight of her is gone from his neck, causing him to open his eyes. She’s staring down at him, slowing her touch as he looks back at her.

Reaching up, he tucks her hair behind her ear. Red, but he is starting to get used to it and everything else, the way she looks at him, the way she feels, is all Clarke.

He cups her jawline, pulling her towards him until his lips find hers.

She quickly tries to roll them, shifting off to her side and trying to take him with her. He goes, because Bellamy doesn’t know how not to follow Clarke and he isn’t trying to learn.

That’s how they are when he slides inside her, both on their sides facing each other. He doesn’t get as deep this way, pulling her leg further over his hip to try to get deeper, but there’s something about how slow, how quiet and simple it is. Lazy, familiar, like this is how they start every morning. Clarke leans her head back and he takes the hint and kisses up her throat as he slowly fucks into her and grips her close. Her breasts press against his chest and she clutches his arm.

Her head falls forward, as she seeks out his mouth with her own and their kissing is just as slow, just as quiet.

She stares at him as she nears orgasm, seemingly making effort to keep her eyes from drifting close as they usually do and there’s an intensity to it that pushes him over the edge, somehow feeling that trust of hers, that choice of trust, more than ever.

 

Snugging into the bedding on her side, she lets out a pleased moan, closing her eyes briefly. “How was your week?” she asks.

He watches her, obviously for too long because she opens her eyes at his silence. His eyes fleet down to her lips and back to her eyes. “I missed you.” He says gruffly. He always misses her. They’ve spent longer separated than they have together, but somehow those first days, those first days when it was every day, every hour, when his life came with Clarke in the mix – those days seem like how it’s supposed to be. Before Mount Weather split them apart.

She sinks her head lower, her forehead rubbing against the furs.

“Am I not allowed to say that?” he asks, looking down at her.

She opens her eyes but keeps them lowered. “You can say whatever you want,” she says, frustratingly a non-answer that doesn’t tell him anything. Then she raises her eyes and meets his. “You’re really sweet, Bellamy.” She whispers. It’s emotional, like she feels it, but she doesn’t look particularly happy about the conclusion she’s come to.

Bellamy frowns, trying to read her. “Do…” he swallows, his frown deepening. “Do you miss me?” he holds his breath.

A smile curves her mouth. “I always miss you.” She says easily, none of the pause he had and still it clears up nothing for him.

“Can I ask you something?” He decides to change subject.

She turns her head to face him. “What is it?”

“This kill order on Lincoln,” he starts. “Do you think they’ll go through with it?”

Her eyebrows rise, her lips flattening. “Lincoln obviously does or he’d leave.” She says flippantly.

“Right.” He mutters, turning away and staring ahead.

“You’re worried?” Clarke asks. Her eyebrows are pinched when he looks at her again.

“Octavia isn’t dealing with it very well.”

He sees her eyes slightly roll as she turns onto her back. “Octavia will get over it because she has to.”

He’s reminded of how long it’s been since he’s seen Clarke around other people. For all the guilt she carries, for how much of herself she’ll sacrifice for others and how much she’s always thinking of everybody else, she’s still no more nurturing, no more tolerant for what she sees as foolish or simple. The instinct to defend Octavia is there, but he also thinks of how nice she’d been about Clarke yesterday. “Clarke, you got to leave when you couldn’t stay. Octavia can’t do that,” he says slowly. Clarke frowns, letting out a sigh that he takes for her accepting his point. “She’s been locked up her whole life and now she can go wherever she wants and be whatever she wants. Places none of us could have ever thought we’d see, but the person she wants to do that with is stuck here,” he shakes his head. “She has a choice, but she doesn’t. I think that might be worse. She has to deal with the fact that she’s choosing to stay.”

They’re silent. Bellamy looks at Clarke next to him while she looks ahead. She exhales before sitting up, reaching for her top and pulling it over her head before she turns to him again. He hikes himself against what they use for pillows, meeting her look as she sits across from him. “They haven’t attacked,” she states, clearly knowing already. “They’re not at the gates demanding you give him up.”

He shakes his head. “No.” he says unnecessarily, trying to rid the flashes of Finn that go through his mind.

“So it’s not about really wanting him dead,” she reasons, facing him but looking away over and over as she thinks. “That’s good,” she says, meeting his eyes pointedly before zoning out again. “The bad is…that means it’s about setting an example. About making sure that no one…crosses over to the other side, like Lincoln has,” she shakes her head, rolling her eyes like she thinks it’s stupid. “So,” she exhales. “Until Le…” she snaps her mouth shut, staring down at the furs still covering him. “Until they feel like they’re back in control, like they’re not weak…” she’s quiet and he can’t tell if she’s cut herself off or she’s still thinking until she clears her throat and meets his eyes again, looking kinder about it. “Lincoln has to stay. And I can’t see Octavia risking Lincoln, no matter how difficult it is.” She says, a small, understanding smile on her face.

“She won’t.” he agrees.

Clarke nods before a thoughtful frown pulls her eyebrows down. “You said about trade, before. You said the plan was to trade.” She looks to him, tilting her head slightly.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re looking to set up a line of contact…” she concludes, narrowing her eyes in thought. “Or you already have one.”

Bellamy can’t help the smile he feels that only widens when he sees Clarke’s smile too, the knowing look in her eye. One of the things he misses most is seeing her mind work. “Kane is in touch with Indra,” he says. “They’re…friends, I think.”

Her eyebrows lift thoughtfully. “Indra is a good friend to have. She can get you…” her face sobers again, shutting down. “She has influence that you’ll need. And she knows Lincoln, so maybe she’ll want to change things.” She nods, shifting where she sits. “It might just take some time, but...I don’t think it’s entirely hopeless.”

It’s at least the second time, maybe third she just showed how much Lexa is an issue for her. She can’t even say her name. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to ask her about it, if talking about it will help. It’s what they’ve done with everything else, it’s the approach he’s taken, but there’s something different here. It’s like when he doesn’t ask her to come home anymore, like not showing too much of what he feels because he knows she’ll run. It feels like that. It’ll just agitate her, he’s sure.

“What about you?” he asks instead. “How’s your week been?”

“Oh, super exciting,” she says with sarcasm and Bellamy is glad for his change in subject by the way her face relaxes. “Lot of trees…more trees,” she jokes before turning thoughtful again. “As much as I miss everyone… Boring’s…” she shrugs as she looks at him.” It’s kinda nice,” she says quietly, her lips flattening in a sad smile. “No one dies.”

“We have music nights.” He blurts out.

Her eyebrows pinch before rising. “Music nights?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “The piano from Mount Weather is a real people pleaser.”

Her sad smile returns. “Wow, they stripped everything from there huh?”

He exhales. Somehow it always ends up back to this, even when he tries to avoid it. At least she’s not stopping herself though, at least she is saying what she’s thinking. “Those of us who have memories of those things…we’re the minority,” he says with a shake of his head. “I don’t know, Clarke, it’s not like I’m expecting Jasper to start hosting those nights, I struggle with them myself but…” he trails off with a frown. “Maybe using some of that stuff is what we’re supposed to do. It’s history.”

“But it was theirs.” She whispers, surprising him somewhat. He doesn’t see Clarke as someone who is sentimental, but maybe he should, he thinks, remembering her talking about chalk and charcoal, about her dreams about the ground. If she isn’t sentimental, it seems she at least kind of was once and Bellamy finds himself hoping that part of her is still there. He thinks about her father’s watch.

“And someone else’s before them,” he points out, hoping the connection lands for her. “And we’re on the ground now. Maybe part of that is being responsible for remembering. They took care of that stuff, valued it, for so long. Maybe honouring that is…I don’t know.” He shakes his head, not totally sure he’s right.

She blinks at him, looking incredibly soft. “I told you you were sweet.”

He swallows, having to look down, to cut their eye contact to get his mouth to keep working. “I know how much books meant to me on The Ark. Without them…” he doesn’t know who he’d be, doesn’t know if he would have made it. “And someone went to the effort to bring them from the ground, and take care of them. And then others saved them after. If they were just lost forever? I don’t want to be responsible for that,” he seeks her eyes again; she’s still staring at him. “There were vaults full of art and literature and things that mattered enough to keep, things that told…told what is now our story too.”

He really wants it to be ‘ours’ for her. He wants her to feel the same way. He thinks she must in some way. Clarke’s always sought peace first, she’s always wanted to live with everyone else. Share, trade, grow, like they’re trying to now. She’s one of them but she lives like a Grounder. Space, ground or bunker, they’re all the same in some light. He thinks about Maya and her father, their friends, refusing to take life from others, even if it could cost them their own. He thinks of them standing and fighting against their own for what they saw as right, a shared humanity. He thinks of Lincoln saving Octavia, vouching for them, for peace, over and over. He thinks of himself and Clarke, never knew each other before, coming from completely opposite sides of the life they knew, but coming together to lead, to be this, what they are now, being together.

Clarke pulls back the furs from his body before straddling him. His hands immediately go to her thighs as he feels her heat, as he reacts to the way she presses down on him, rubbing herself against him. “You’re oddly insatiable, you know that?” he groans, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Maybe I just like you.” She whispers, smirking down at him. Her pupils are blown, her eye bright and her red hair hangs down, straight.

He leans up and tugs her down on top of him, cupping her cheek with one hand, guiding her lips to meet his. He slides his fingers through her hair with other until his hand is on her back, going under her top to stroke over her skin. He pulls the top up, breaking the kiss to take it off her, again, and he just feels her skin against his.

 

“It’s still pretty early,” he says as she lies on his chest. “We could go watch the sunrise.” He offers, running his fingers up and down the base of her spine.

She lets out something of a chuckle; he feels the air on his skin, and her smile. “Are you trying to cover as much romance as possible?” she asks, muffled against him.

His fingers still, remembering other nights together. He isn’t. Mostly he just wants to be with her, and that includes out of this cave. In the day, in the air where she can’t ignore the rest of the world, where it isn’t dark.

“We still lack a real bed,” He says, half-joking and fully trying to get out of giving a real response. “What’d you say?” he whispers, frowning when she’s quiet. “Clarke?” he looks down at her head, her face still hidden from him.

“Where I…where I’m staying,” she starts, “It’s pretty high up and the view is…” there’s a slight tremble in her voice. “I watch the sunrise every morning.”

He can hear her breathing, unsteady, and he feels it too. She just gave him something, and it cost her to do it, but she did it anyway. She’s kept that part of her life away from him, been more protective over it than anything else, and she let him into it. He wants to thank her, he wants to tell her he loves her, he wants to ask if he can come with her so he can watch the sunrise from that view with her. He wants a lot of things. But he doesn’t say any of it, only curls his arm around her and holds her tightly, trying to recognise it without being too much.

“You shouldn’t miss this morning’s then.” He says, a tremble in his voice too now, a catch that he swallows back by leaning down to kiss the top of her head, her red, straight hair. Her red, straight hair that’s becoming Clarke to him. Maybe she’s right and there aren’t many blonde Grounders, but he’s not sure there’s many redhead ones either.

Clarke wraps her arm around him, digging her hand under his arm and shoulder. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and especially for kudos and comments! They make my day.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more Chapters after this one. I'm not sure when they will be done as I want to have Chapter 10 pretty much finished before posting 9 so I can post both Chapters within a day or so of each other, but hopefully I'll get a lot of them done this week at least.

The 8th week she flinches when he hugs her, pulling her right shoulder up and out of reach.

“Clarke?” he asks, trying to look her over. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a…scratch,” she says. “Could you treat it for me? I can’t reach.”

“Yeah, of course.” He frowns in concern, getting her to sit down.

“In my bag, in the front, at the bottom,” she points and he goes to grab what she needs. “It’s a box. Wooden.”

“Got it,” He says as he makes his way back over to her, sitting down behind her. She leans forward, trying to get her hair out of the way but he can see her wincing even from that. Taking over, he stops her with a hand on her other shoulder, before reaching down to grasp her top. “Okay?” he asks anyway, waiting for her nod before fully lifting her top up her back. She hisses a sharp inhale of breath as he pulls it over her head and off and he stares at the massive, deep almost welts on her shoulder. “A scratch?” he repeats in disbelief. They could need stitches!

“Technically multiple ones,” she says sounding way too calm about it. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” He argues, sweeping her hair away over her left shoulder. “What the hell is that? What happened?”

“I was hunting.” She says and even though it makes sense of her injury, it creates entirely new questions for him.

“You hunt?” he asks, not able to envision it. He led teams for hunting when they first landed; Clarke was often involved, but from a directing, planning and knowing what everybody was doing kind of way. She wasn’t part of the hunting unless they were sending out pretty much everybody. And they all needed groups for even a chance of catching anything. She hunts by herself? Is she good at it? Or maybe it was her first time and that’s why it went wrong. He remembers that meat she’s brought with her sometimes and he finds himself shaking his head as he stares at the marks. He should have known, really. Clarke hasn’t stopped surprising him since she her first word to him, when she yelled at him not to open the dropship door, and he’s watched her immerse herself more and more into Grounders ways these weeks, but Jesus, there’s a reason Grounders live in communities just like they do. It’s the best way to survive. It’s too dangerous to be alone. How close it must have been for this to happen…

“I have to eat, Bellamy,” she adds, still completely calm and reasonable in a way he can’t be right now. She has fucking claw marks on her back. She could have died! “And I got him. He just got me first.” She moves her shoulder and he sees the scratches – fucking scratches – pull.

“Stop,” he insists, putting a hand on her back, worry replacing all his thoughts. “Here,” he gives her the box, putting her in her hands. “What am I doing?” he asks, wanting to help her.

He follows her lead, doing everything she says to. Using the white, gloopy paste over the wounds, covering it with pieces of bandages that he has to overlay because it’s so much of her shoulder, and taping it over with tape that feels weird and new but seems to work.

After, he finds himself leaning his head against the top of her spine, his hand at the bottom. What if… He closes his eyes, trying to let it go. She’s okay.

“You shouldn’t have travelled with that.” He says, his voice more of a tremble than he would like.

He feels her turn her head, though he doesn’t raise his own from her back. “I had to come, Bellamy,” she whispers, “After what happened before.”

For the things they talk about, there’s still things they don’t and that week she didn’t turn up and the following one are some of those things.

He breathes deeply, exhaling out heavily through his nose, feeling it as it touches her skin. He tells himself wounds are not a prompt to tell someone you love them, to tell someone you can’t lose them and you don’t know what you’d be without them.

Swallowing it back, he presses a kiss to where he was leaning his head, curling his arm around her slightly so he can feel her, right here.

“If you had a radio…” he tries.

“Bellamy.” She sighs, like always, like then.

“Please, Clarke,” he begs. “You could keep it turned off. Or, there’s channels nobody else uses that could just be ours. You wouldn’t have to…” he cuts himself off, not wanting to explain it away completely. “But you’d have the option, if you wanted, needed, to get in touch.”

She’s quiet and he stares at her back, waits.

“Bring one next time,” She finally says. “I’m not saying yes,” she hurries to add as she turns her body to look at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He reminds himself thinking about it isn’t a prompt to tell someone you love them, to tell someone the simplest, stupid things they do make you happy, either.

Not saying it all doesn’t make any of it less true though.

He moves, making up the difference of her turn so they’re facing enough to kiss her, to distract himself, to occupy his mouth so he can’t say anything, but can show her what it means to him.

Again there’s that thought in his head that maybe he could leave Arkadia, and be with her. She wouldn’t be alone, she wouldn’t travel with injuries and maybe he could stop her being hurt in the first place. He wouldn’t have to worry about her, or miss her, or feel like he’s passing the week. He wouldn’t feel useless to her, or too late. Arkadia is settled, maybe as much as it ever will be. As a people, they’re doing better than okay. He isn’t needed there, and he doesn’t think he needs it anymore. Octavia is the only thing stopping him suggesting it to Clarke this second; he can’t leave the place she’s trapped in. He couldn’t when they were in space, he’s not going to do it now. But he can’t stop that thought.

 

For the first time, they don’t have sex that night. Clarke lies completely draped over him and Bellamy keeps his arm on the opposite side of her bandages and near the line of her spine, his other resting low on her right side, trying to keep her warm. The furs rests on his arm, creating some space so she doesn’t have any weight at all on her wounds.

He stays awake longer than usual as she sleeps, as if some kind of vigil. It’s laughable, especially given what they’ve been through, that he’d treat this like something he needs to watch over, but he can’t help it. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t there when she was hurt. He couldn’t do anything. He doesn’t know when he’ll be there again, but he is right now and if keeping her warm, making sure nothing touches her, nothing puts pressure on that wound, is all he can do, he’s doing it.

 

She wakes up once, with what he thinks is a nightmare, but she doesn’t startle like she has before. She moans, and he feels her go still on his chest, but she doesn’t jerk or move.

“Bellamy?” she mumbles, sounding more confused than upset.

With his free hand, he grasps her hand that’s resting on him, near her face. “Yeah, I'm here, Clarke. Everything's okay.”

He feels her sigh more than he hears it, and her body relaxes again, completely letting herself lean on him. “Bellamy.” She repeats with what sounds like peace, like trust, and like she’s exactly where she wants to be – with him. He’s never felt that before. And it means even more because she knows him. All his fuck ups, his selfishness, his anger, and she’s happy to be here anyway. This is where she’s choosing to be.

It isn’t her coming back because he’s asking her to, it isn’t knowing he’ll get to hold her like this again tomorrow night or the chance to help or protect her next time, but it feels more like a yet than it has all these weeks.

 

It’s one of his most treasured nights with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to those who commented and gave kudos on the previous. It's always quite difficult posting again after a bit of a break and I just question myself and what I've written to the point that I pretty much never want to look at it ever again (I don't re-read any of my own stuff) and want to forget I ever wrote anything at all. So the support and knowing people are still reading and liking means a lot.
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


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